


Moving On

by vonhosselfratt



Category: Will & Grace
Genre: Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Day, Mostly just writing for myself because for some reason this pairing is unpopular?, Pining, Romance, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-02-11 00:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12923754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonhosselfratt/pseuds/vonhosselfratt
Summary: Will is once again roommates with Grace, but still misses, as Karen put it, his swarthy man in uniform. [WIP]





	1. Chapter 1

**2012**

“You know, Will, you don’t have to change your apartment just because I’m staying here for a while,” Grace says over breakfast as Will goes about his spring cleaning.  “I don’t mind if you keep your...gift wrapping room or your erotic male art. Trust me, I _really_ don’t mind about that last one,” she adds.

Will rolls his eyes a little as he begins to pack his photograph albums into a cardboard box.

“No, really Will. I’m not here to invade your living space. I’m just...floating around here temporarily, like a ghost.”

“A ghost that eats all my food,” Will hits back.

Grace drops her spoon and glares at him from the table.

“Look, it’s fine, Grace. You know me, I enjoy the occasional clear-out,” he says, shrugging.

Grace eyes him suspiciously. “This is coming from the guy who once freaked out when I moved the easy chair two inches towards the television.”

Will continues silently.

Grace isn’t the shrewdest person, nor is she the most selfless. But she knows Will enough to figure out that he’s still attempting to de-Vince the apartment; to restore it to its former state of when Grace had lived there eleven years before. And she also knows it’s not for her benefit, but for Will’s, that every reminder of his ex-partner had to be thrown out, scrubbed out, erased completely.

She watch him wordlessly for a while, between mouthfuls of her cereal, before finally letting herself slump to the back of the chair and sighing.

“You know, you can’t just banish every trace of him, Will. For god’s sake, he lived here for years.”

“Why can’t I?” Will snaps defensively. “He banished every trace of me.”

Grace reels back a little, affronted by Will’s unusual bluntless.

“Besides,” Will says, picking up the box and blinking. “This isn’t about Vince.”

“Uh, it’s a little late to go back on that one, Will. You just blew your cover.”

Will ignores her, turning his back and setting about collecting the throw cushions.

“Oh, Will, you can’t throw out the throw cushions. They’re just _cushions_!” she says exasperatedly, her voice slightly muffled by cereal.

“...They still smell like him, you know,” Will says, voice barely above a whisper.

Grace blinks. “What, like shea butter and vanilla scented candles?”

Will softens, with a sad smile on his face.

“Well, if you want, I can make them smell like me,” Grace presses. “Say the word, and I will mark my territory all over those things. Wait.” She pauses. “That sounded like I was going to pee on your cushions. I promise that’s not what I meant.”

“...I know.”

“But if it would help…”

“Grace.”

“I’m _kidding_. Will? If you want to redecorate, I’m your woman. I’ll do it, free of charge but you can’t just pretend like an entire person didn’t live here for years. He’s obviously going to leave behind a certain...energy, no matter how much you clear the place out.”

Will deflates a little, sinking down onto the couch.

“You’re right,” he admits.

“And god, I bet Leo and I’s old apartment is just _filled_ with memories of me, and no matter how much he tries to purge me from it, part of me will always linger and drive him slowly nuts…”

“Grace.”

“Sorry, sorry. We’re talking about you.” She observes her best friend of thirty-two years. “It just...seems to me like you haven’t gotten any closure.”

Will scoffs. “Exactly how is keeping this stuff going to help me get closure?”

“Well, the issue is that you associate everything with him. For example, that antique lamp over there isn’t just a _lamp_ to you, it’s the lamp you bought with him on a vacation to Tuscany.”

“Oh god, the lamp, how could I have forgotten about the _lamp…_ ”

“Will! Focus!” Grace sighs. “The truth is, these objects are just _things_ . The fact that you associate everything with him is just indicative of your own feelings which are not going to change by throwing them all out. And you are _not_ going to turn this apartment into one of those creepy, minimalist spaces with no life or soul, like one of those cult followers of that god forsaken book...I mean, throw out everything that doesn’t bring me joy? Please, why does everything have to bring me _joy?_ Why should I have to feel euphoric every time I pick up a toothbrush?”

Will knows he’s going a little crazy when Grace is the voice of logic, albeit “meandering and occasionally about her”, logic.

The truth was, he missed Vince. A lot.

He missed the feeling of sleeping beside him.

He missed when Vince would come home after a late shift, and Will would pretend to be asleep when Vince would join him, and hook a lazy arm around him and pull him close. Will would occasionally turn over and lean in a little closer to his chest, and breathe in his musk, reveling in how warm and safe he felt.

He missed how Vince would always go out of his way to get him strange gifts from the evidence locker.

He missed the way Vince would playfully mock him every time he got worked up over silly things like Christmas potlucks or coffee spillages on his scarves.

He misses fighting over the remote; whether to watch _Project Runway_ or reruns of _Taxi._

He misses feeling Vince’s arms wrap around him while he was trying to cook in the kitchen, and getting slightly distracted when he felt the other’s lips press against his neck.

He misses lazy Sundays, when they would just sit with their feet up and read magazines and engage in mindless gossip.

He misses Fridays in the Berkshires.

He misses-

“Hey, should we go to the movies this weekend?” Grace says, “I hear that new Marvel movie is good.”

Will is plucked from his reverie and collects himself as swiftly as possible, standing up from the couch and moving to clear away the dishes.

“Since when are you into Marvel?” he says.

“Okay, you caught me. I just want to see one of those Chris-es flex their biceps in skin tight armor.”

Will turns on the faucet and shakes his head.

“ _God_ , you’re basic.”

* * *

As the weeks go by, Will becomes increasingly aware, in retrospect, that his relationship with Vince hadn’t been perfect.

Far from it.

There were fights. There were dry spells. There were days when they went without speaking, not out of anger, but merely out of habit.

When Michael had broken up with Will, way back in 1996, Will had known that things weren’t great. He’d been a young and naive thirty-year old, who, despite from a cold, Connecticut family and studious law school graduate, still possessed a secretly romantic soul.

He also possessed a childlike belief that it would last forever with Michael. Of course, growing up with a family like his own, he’d trained himself to ignore problematic patterns in relationships. Always looking the other way when his mother drank, or his father cheated. By deluding himself with this belief,  he knows he alienated Michael in more ways than one.

Perhaps he should have been prepared when Michael left him, after seven years, and almost immediately shacked up with someone new.

Will would still pine over him, cuddling with his scarves and silently brooding, half wistful, half angry. It had been all too easy to blame Michael for breaking his heart. But as the years went by, and Will grew and matured, he had come to realize his own harmful behavior regarding relationships.

They’d manifested with his parents. With Grace. With every potential relationship he had.

A now - in his fifties - he’s wethered, intelligent, but still a little petulant.

With Michael, it had been different, he realized. With Michael, it had been a relationship right out of college. An immature, juvenile belief that his first love would last forever, and that they’d grow old together.

With Vince, it was less of a longing of the future. It _was_ the future. Will really thought he’d made it, and that he had settled into something real, something right, and that there was nothing left to anticipate.

He’d been the love of his life - or so he thought.

* * *

 So Will settles back into a life with Grace.

He has meaningless flirtations; with Steve Sandoval, the cute but corrupt congressman. Blake, the ignoramus 23-year old with ADHD. Eli Wolff, the business mogul he’d been set up with by Grace. (The latter didn’t go so well, but it was nice to be briefly wanted.) Will often wonders if these kind of dalliances are his destiny. That he isn’t cut out for a real relationship. And he can blame Vince. He can blame his parents. He can blame Grace. He can even blame Jack, if he’s feeling desperate (they _did_ still get mistaken for boyfriends on a regular basis.)

But he wouldn’t go down the self-loathing path of blaming himself. Because he’d been there before, and he definitely wasn’t going back.

 Eventually, Will can go hours without thinking about him. This could often stretch into full days, if he’s lucky. It’s like it’s 1998 all over again, and he’s back together with Grace, where he belongs. But Will can’t deny the dull ache in his chest every time he’d reminded of Vince - be it a cop drama on TV or a god forsaken lamp they picked up half-price at a flea market.

He’s reminded an old _Sex and the City_ quote - that it takes “half the time you date someone to get over them.”

That had certainly true of Michael. But Will, or at least the romantic side of Will - it feels like he has an eternity ahead of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**2007**

Grace and Leo’s second wedding (or is it their third?) goes off surprisingly without a hitch - Will half-expects one of them to pull him into a sideroom with a wardrobe malfunction, or an impromptu confession of infidelity.

But there are no complications this time. Which is a relief, considering the amount of effort Will put into this wedding, especially at short notice. The flowers - gardenias. The register - no more than one coffee machine, he made sure of that.  The music - soft jazz and Top 40 pop. The catering - an eclectic combination of Louisiana creole (to honor Leo’s home state) and all of Grace’s Thanksgiving favorites. Will had managed to sneak a few of his own creations onto the buffet table (it was Grace’s wedding, _of course_ there was an all-you-can-eat setup) including his homemade tapenade and pickled shrimp.

Will can’t deny the frustration when the latter goes completely neglected throughout the night, but he puts the thought out of his head to focus on the first dance (or second dance?) between Leo and Grace, who look besotted with each other once again as they sway and gaze into each other’s eyes,  as though the pain and heartbreak between them was completely forgotten.

“Look at our girl, all grown up and getting remarried to a redneck infidel who’s bound to break her heart all over again,” Karen coos from beside Will. She takes out her flip phone and languidly cracks it open. “I’ll shoot a video so she has something to watch twelve months from now when she’s bitterly single and chomping down on eight quarts of Ben and Jerry’s.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Look, I know you and I aren’t exactly crazy about Leo, but I really think they’ll work it out this time.” He nods. “I mean, it better. I worked hard on those pickled shrimp.”

Karen scoffs. “Speaking of your precious pickled shrimp, I think I just saw someone use one as a Q-tip.”

“Oh, _what?!_ ” Will laments, looking around the room in annoyance. “God, and Ellen's had her paws in the crab cakes all night, it looks _totally_ uneven...What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be off doing something inappropriate with Jack, like spiking the chowder with vodka, or...or competing to see who can hook up with the best man first?”

“Jack? That dope? I dared him to lick the ice sculpture and now he’s stuck there trying to thaw his tongue off.” Karen shakes her head chuckling. "Hey why are _you_ still here? Shouldn't you be off in the bathroom dry-humping with your cop boyfriend? God knows this frou-frou setup and the campy music should be enough to get you gays excited."

Before Will can reply, there’s a loud squeal from the other side of the room as Grace rockets towards Will, drunkenly falling into his lap.

“Heeeey, Grace,” Will laughs, steadying her in his arms. “Aren't you supposed to be dancing with Leo?”

“Ugh, I’m done with Leo. I wanna _dance with you_ now,” she giggles. “Also my mother-in-law has been sending me evil eyes all night because I accidentally offered her food that was _non-kosher_? God, I wonder how she’d react if she knew I ate bacon.”

Will shakes his head, amused, and rubs her arm sympathetically. “Grace, I’d love to dance with you, but I promised I’d dance with Vince first.”

“Oh, I forgot you two were dating again,” Grace mutters, before sighing and dropping her head to Will’s shoulder and sighing wistfully. “Wow. Look at us, both off the market at the same time.  Usually the universe only allows _one_ of us that kind of happiness.”

“Don’t say that, you’ll jinx it.”

“Nah, I got a ring on his finger. This one ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Just then, the music switches abruptly from soft jazz to 80’s pop. Grace groans on cue. “Ugh, that’s all it takes to get my mother going,” she says.

Bobbi Adler immediately struts to the dance floor, swaying her hips and singing along to Love Shack.

“Kill. Me. Now,” Grace says through gritted teeth.

“...Do you think Bobbi is drunk enough that I could offer her some pickled shrimp?” Will wonders aloud.

“Oh, Wilma. Ain’t _noooo_ body drunk enough for that,” Karen chortles.

Grace nods in sheepish agreement.

* * *

 Will eventually finds Vince, who had been out taking a call from his captain.

He purses his lips, smiling as his boyfriend slips his phone into his jacket and joins him, wrapping an instinctive arm around his back as they head back into the hall together.

“ _Please_ don’t tell me you have to ditch me to arrest some serial killer,” Will pleads. “I need you here so Bobbi doesn’t try to set me up with one of the chorus boys from the Schenectady community theater.”

“No, we’re good. Not a lot of homicides this time of year,” Vince confirms, “A lot of births in offside vehicles though. Sometimes I feel like I’m a better midwife than a cop.”

“Thank god. It is just so hard to get a moment alone with you,” Will sighs, tugging his date closer and smiling up at him. He lets his voice drop to a whisper. “By the way, you just look so handsome in that tux.”

“So do you,” Vince says, returning the smile. “So, should we go have that dance?”

Will assesses the wedding reception. It’s not the most romantic atmosphere; the music selection has switched to classic 70’s rock and Bobbi is still tearing it up on the dancefloor. Jack and Karen are immersed in each other, gyrating against each other in a not entirely wholesome way, with Karen shaking her breasts in his face, to the bemusement of everyone around them (especially Leo’s family).

“Hmm,” Will says, before leaning up to whisper in his boyfriend’s ear. “I have a better idea.”

 

Will had perhaps let the champagne go to his head a little, because his professional role as unofficial wedding planner had gone out the window as he loosens his tie, lightly shoving Vince into the dressing room and immediately capturing his lips in a messy but determined kiss, kicking the door shut simultaneously.

Vince draws back a little, still alarmed.

“Woah, are you sure we should be doing this? Isn’t there like a conga line you’re supposed to be in or something?” he jokes.

“Relax, everyone hooks up at weddings,” Will breathes, grabbing him by the lapels and continuing to kiss him insistently, deeper this time. Vince relaxes into it, one tender hand clasping Will’s face, and smiles into the kiss as Will begins to back him almost roughly behind the curtain.

Will reaches to unfasten Vince’s blazer, pushing it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor in a swift move that impresses even himself. “Hope you don’t mind if I mess you up a little,” he breathes between quick and hungry kisses.

Vince stifles a laugh. “As long as you don’t mess up my hair,” he agrees.

“Oh, of course, I’m not an idiot,” Will says hastily.

He grabs the other man’s tie playfully and pulls him flush against himself, immediately noticing a hard plastic object obstructing them. “Vince, is that your APB radio or are you just happy to see me?” he jokes.

“Shut up,” Vince says incredulously, pulling his police radio from his person and tossing it aside without breaking eye contact. 

With heavy breathing, Will grins as he allows himself to be rid of his jacket and then pushed up against the wall with one open hand against his chest. Vince reaches up to pull the curtain shut, blocking out the muffled sounds of offending pop music. They crash back together in a clumsy kiss, more desperate this time. Will whines as he feels teeth graze his bottom lip, and he hooks an enthusiastic arm around the taller man's neck to pull him down into a deeper kiss, wanting not an inch of space between them. Vince understands as he kisses back fiercely, hands roaming lower, gripping one thigh and hoisting it up to his hip instinctively. Will feels dizzy; buzzed from champagne and addled by the musk of cologne. 

"You're so hot," Will breathes stupidly against his lips. Vince laughs a little at the tipsy admission and kisses him again firmly, then along his jaw, before moving to work on his neck. Immediately Will feels his eyes almost roll back, forgetting about the wedding completely, panting as he surrenders to the motion of his belt being unbuckled.

* * *

  **2017**

“Did you know?” Grace says to Will.

They’re relaxing on the couch, their feet lazily intertwined as Grace peruses her (second) wedding album. Will’s flicking through a magazine, staring but not really reading the articles.

“Know what?” Will asks, taking off his glasses and furrowing his brow at her.

Grace sighs, slamming her album shut. “That my marriage wouldn’t last.”

“I…” Will tilts his head in genuine consideration.

He remembers the wedding ten years earlier. There was no doubt that Grace and Leo had been madly in love, that their prior divorce had been tough on both of them. During that wedding, with his mind clouded by champagne and the sweet stylings of Frank Sinatra - and then the not-so-sweet stylings of Grace herself as she hogged the microphone and insisted on serenading her husband yet again - he’d truly felt the romance that day. Weddings got to him like that. Whether or not it would _last_ had been the last thing on his mind.

What _had_ been on his mind - albeit fleetingly - was pondering whether or not he would ever have a wedding like this. A real wedding, with flowers, and rings, and vows; bursting with commotion and love and embarrassing relatives. All the traditional fixings. Specifically, he'd thought about marrying Vince, his then-boyfriend who had been bordering love-of-his-life status, a prospect that had scared him and excited him at the same time.

“All I knew,” he says finally, “Is that you two loved each other.”

Grace blinks. “Sometimes love just isn’t enough, I guess. Marriage is a _hell_ of a lot of work.”

“You’re right,” Will concurs. “Well. Not that I would know.”

Grace clicks her tongue harshly. “You know what, Will, I don’t think I’ll ever get married again. The whole, _prince on a white steed_ fantasy is just one delusion I need to banish from my life. Look at me! I married that prince. Twice! And it still turned to crap. Maybe I should just...give up now.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh god. Do I sound bitter?” Grace says. “Do you think my break up has made me bitter?”

“...Do you think _my_ break up has made _me_ bitter?” Will echoes.

Grace scoffs. “Will, you were bitter before your break up. You were bitter before your relationship. Hell, I’m pretty sure you were _born_ bitter.”

Will laughs, but then freezes.

“Do you really think so?” he says.

“I mean, come on, Will. You had this...this _layer of ice_ just encrusting your heart from day one. I bought into that fairytale delusion, but you never did. That’s why I admire you, Will. You’re so...unromantic.”

Will stiffens, and sits up straighter. “Well, I like to think that I have _some_ -”

“That’s why you’re such a reliable friend. I could always rely on you to tell me when I was making a mistake with Leo. Even though I ignored you half the time. That’s why I love you.” Grace smiles. She leans across to kiss him on the cheek. Will flinches a little.

“Up for a Netflix binge?” she offers, heading over to the television nook.

“Sure,” Will says absentmindedly, slightly shaken.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set in 2008. I was twelve/thirteen during this time so naturally, a fun little era to write. Pretty angst-free, because maybe I'm in a good mood today? If you have time, please comment and let me know what you think so far!

**2008**

Contrary to Karen’s prediction, Grace and Leo’s marriage survives the first year, and to celebrate it, they throw a week long anniversary party (which Grace feels she deserves.)

Will and Vince arrive at their apartment with a bottle of wine. Grace answers the door before Will has a chance to knock, grinning and wrapping her arm around his neck.

“Ugh, I’ve missed you so much,” she says. “Let’s never go two days without speaking ever again.”

“God, it’s only been two days?” Will jokes dramatically, taking off his Burberry scarf. “It felt like an eternity.”

“Yeah, I had to spend some time with my stupid husband,” Grace says, poking Leo in the side as the two men enter, taking off their coats.

“Love you too, honey,” Leo smiles, rolling his eyes and accepting their coats to hang on the rack. “Uh, guys, you can go straight to the dining room. Food’s already ready.”

“It smells great, Leo,” Will says politely.

“It’s Matzah ball soup, followed by beef brisket,” Leo says. “And actually, Grace made it.”

“ _Grace_ cooked?” Will exclaims, as he passes the wine to Leo. “Should we call the paramedics in advance, just in case?”

“I followed the recipe _very_ meticulously,” Grace says pointedly as they head to the dining room. “So no-one’s stomachs will need pumping tonight.”

“Yeah, she practiced a few times to perfect it,” Leo confirms. “She’s done a _lot_ of eating this week.”

“Hey,” Grace pouts as they take their seats. “I’m allowed to eat. It’s _my_ week.” She pauses. “I mean... _our_ week.” She squeezes Leo’s hand, beaming .

Will and Vince sit beside each other, giving each other a small smile, both knowing that Grace and Leo’s anniversary also means they’ve been together a similar amount of time. They hadn’t celebrated a formal anniversary themselves - they were hoping to save that for real marriage, whenever that may be - but they had spent a weekend in the Berkshires followed by a spa day, and felt fully relaxed and steady in their relationship.

“Well, Vince and I want to wish you a happy anniversary. And many more.” Will says.

“Thanks, guys, but I don’t want you to think of this night as me and _Grace’s_ night…” Leo says.

“Huh?” Grace says indignantly, muffled by the bread she was already chewing.

“This is for all four of us. You know, havin’ _fun_ , double- _dating_.” Leo says jovially, as he pours the drinks.

“No wine for me, thanks,” Grace says, after swallowing her bread audibly.

Will stares.

“No alcohol? Grace, are you…”

“ _Not_ pregnant, I knew you’d ask,” she replies immediately.

“She’s still fighting off a hangover from last night.” Leo says.

“Yeah, we went to a nightclub and I did tequila shots off a someone’s belly button,” Grace grins. "And then I danced with a drag queen."

Will blinks. “Wow. And to think, all Vince and I did was play trivial pursuit with Joe and Larry.”

“Yeah, which we won,” Vince adds.

“Thanks to our combined knowledge of Western dramas and Tony Award winners of the 1960s,” Will says smugly, and the two men clink glasses proudly.

“You two,” Grace smiles, “are _such_ an old married couple. Aren’t they?”

“We are _not_. We could just as easily go to a bar and...and drink from someone’s navel.”

“But Jeopardy was on that night, so we couldn’t.”

“...Yeah.”

“But seriously, you guys, you need to get back into the gay bar scene. I feel like we’re living in a time where gay culture is _finally coming alive_ ,” Grace enthuses, nodding before taking a sip of her soup.

“Careful, Grace, they said the same thing in the late ‘70s when disco came out, and then the 1980s came along and Reagan ruined everything,” Will warns her

“Yes, but _Will_ , we’re living in the age of Barack Obama, and...and Lady _Gaga_ now.”

“Don’t forget Katy Perry,” Leo cuts in.

“Uh, sweetie, you’re not allowed to discuss gay stuff with us.”

“Got it.”

“And let’s not forget, Will,” Grace smiles. “Gay marriage - sorry, _same_ \- _sex_ marriage is legal in Connecticut now.”

Will rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to get married in _Connecticut_ , Grace.”

“Yeah, we’re New Yorkers,” Vince agrees.

“I’m just sayin’, it’s just a ninety minute drive,” Grace shrugs. “I think you should strike while the iron’s hot.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“You know, while you’re still playing footsie under the table. Or whatever you two are doing under there.”

“We’re not _doing_ anything!” Will protests.

“Well, Leo and I are.” Grace says under her breath, causing Will to almost spit out his soup.

 

The two couples continue their evening, and are just finishing up the brisket when Grace stands up rigidly, her chair squeaking.

“Will? Why don’t you come see our new vintage napkin set in the kitchen?” she says awkwardly, motioning her head toward the kitchen.

Will eyes her suspiciously, setting down his utensils. “Uh, is it urgent?”

“Yes.”

Will blinks, and stands up. “Alright, I’m guessing they must be pretty good napkins."

“Oh, shut up, Will, you’ve always loved a good napkin,” Grace teases, before smiling at the other two men. “You two just...keep drinking. We’ll be back in a minute.”

Will allows himself to be ushered out of the dining room and into the living area. Once out of earshot, he turns to give her an incredulous look. “Okay, I’m assuming you didn’t just drag me in here to see your kitchenware?”

“What? No, of course not, idiot,” Grace hisses. “I just...need to talk to you in private,”

“Now?”

“Yes!” Grace rubs her temples to collect herself as Will waits impatiently. “...You know how earlier I said I wasn’t pregnant?” she mumbles.

“...Yes? You’re not, right?”

“No! But...when Leo and I were in the middle of getting a seaweed wrap at the Peninsula Spa...don’t judge, it does _wonders_ for skincare and weightloss.”

“Yeah, that is when you’re not secretly eating the seaweed during.”

Grace looks at the floor sheepishly. “You know me too well. _Anyway,_ we were all _relaxed_ , and _happy_ , and _talking_ about how _relaxed_ and _happy_ we were...when all of a sudden, the subject comes up.”

“The subject of?”

“Going off birth control.”

Grace gauges Will’s reaction, who only stares back blankly.

“Well?” he says eventually.

“I think we came to a consensus that it was something we wanted to do.”

“Grace, that’s...that’s _great_! Right, that’s great?” Will says encouragingly.

“Don’t. Don’t congratulate me. Because now I’m doubting everything,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “At the time, I was all loopy and chilled out, but now I’m a big old neurotic mess.”

“So I’m guessing you weren’t the one who brought it up?”

“Leo did,” Grace nods. “I think he wants a baby, Will. And now that I’ve thought it over, I’m not so sure that I do. God, is there something wrong with me?”

“No, no, no, of course not!” Will reassures, taking hold of her arms firmly. “There is nothing wrong with you for feeling what you feel.”

“But I’m already in my _mid-thirties-_ ”

“Early forties,” Will corrects.

“And I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance to be a mother. It has to happen _right now_ , Will!” she cries. “But at the same time, I don’t know if I’m ready for my life to change like that.”

“Grace. Grace. Look at me. Listen to me,” Will soothes, holding her tighter. “You trust my judgement more than anyone else, right?”

Grace nods silently.

“Then trust me when I say this. Whatever you choose to do? _Will_ be the right decision. Having a baby, _not_ having a baby...whatever will be, will be.”

“God, you will not waste an opportunity to quote Doris Day at me, will you?”

“No, I will not,” Will says, pulling her into a hug. Grace laughs a little, squeezing him back.

“I just really want this to work with Leo,” she whispers.

“Well, Leo married _you_ , not your uterus. I’m sure he’ll respect any decision you make,” Will says.

Grace pulls back, giving Will an approving once-over. “Look at _you,_ the relationship expert,” she says, poking him softly.

“Just call me Dr. Will,” Will says. Grace narrows her eyes. “You know, as in, Dr. Phil?” Will clarifies.

“Bury that, babe.”

“Okay, got it.”

 

Vince and Leo are accustomed to Will and Grace’s private talks, so they don’t question it when they finally go back to join them in the dining room.

“You were right, those napkins _were_ phenomenal.” Will says heartily, taking his seat.

“You know, coming from you, Will, that’s almost actually believable,” Leo replies, side-eyeing Grace, who is conspicuously humming a jaunty tune.

“Well I don’t know about you guys, but I am _ready_ for dessert. Leo, go get the gelato?” Grace prompts. Leo purses his lips and obeys, getting up leaving the room.

“I hope my husband didn’t bore you too much,” Grace adds to Vince as she grabs the pitcher to pour herself some water.

Vince shakes his head. “Actually, we have a lot in common. Like, we both have a lot of deaths in our line of work? You know, preventing them, investigating them?”

“Wow, so you didn’t even _try_ for politics or the weather, you just went _straight_ to the death talk,” Grace says.

“As opposed to the birth talk,” Vince says, taking a sip from his wine.

There’s a beat of pure silence and Will and Grace share a panicked glance.

“You could hear us?”

“Hey, all I’m saying is I could hear you, I don’t know that Leo did.”

“ _Crap_ ,” Grace says.

“Hey hey, it’s fine, we mostly just talked over you,” Vince assures. “All we _really_ got was seaweed, uterus and something about Doris Day?”

“Thank you for lying, Vince,” Grace says flatly. “Well, I hope Leo and I don’t have a fight tonight. God, he might even sleep on the couch, and I’ll have to sleep in that big bed all by myself..." she tilts her head, humming. "Well, I guess there’s a perk.”

“You’ll be fine. You made it this far, right?” Will says.

“ _Yup_. A whole year.” Grace says. Suddenly, her eyes light up. “Hey, how about we lighten the mood with a game of Pyramid later?”

Will grins. “You’re on.”

“Oh, man, we are going to _crush_ our significant others,” Grace says, an evil glint in her eye.

Will and Vince share a glance. “...Uh, Grace, I think considering the situation - anniversaries, and all - Vince and I should team up. And you, uh, pair with Leo?”

“...Oh.” Grace looks temporarily crestfallen, before perking up. “Yeah. Of course. You’re right.” She scoffs at her own ridiculous suggestion. “Obviously. I mean, those two, together? They’d be useless.”

Vince shrugs in admission while Will shakes his head, laughing.

 

“Do you think things seemed kinda tense with Grace and Leo tonight?” Will says as they arrive back home. They shut the door, teeth still chattering from the thin breezy air of late fall.

“Oh, you mean before or after we kicked their asses at Pyramid?” Vince says playfully, slipping off his gloves.

“Okay, a lead by three seconds probably doesn’t constitute the kicking of one’s ass…”

“Will, they’re fine,” Vince says. “Just a normal married couple.”

“Hmm,” Will hums absentmindedly. “What about us? Are we fine?”

“Why'd you ask?” Vince murmurs idly, kneeling to the light the fireplace.

“I noticed you didn’t do anything under that table tonight,” Will says mock flirtatiously. “Not a thigh squeeze, not even the tasteful touch of the knee...”

“It’s called being a gentleman,” Vince says without looking away, reaching to warm his hands on the crackling flames. “Besides, I don’t like it when people use double-dates as a competition to see who can get their partners off first.”

“Right. But if it were, we’d win, right? You know, like we won at Pyramid?”

“Yeah, we're never gonna to let them live that one down,” Vince chuckles, standing up and slipping off his shoes.

“Nope. But in private, of course.”

“Sure.”

“Because we’re gentlemen,” Will echoes.

The two men share a smile, and as the warmth fills the apartment, there’s a tension; albeit a different kind of tension than the one in Grace and Leo’s apartment two hours before.

“You know,” Will says slyly, going to wrap his arms around his boyfriend. “Anniversaries have always kind of been an aphrodisiac for me.”

“Oh really?” Vince is immediately interested.

“And I mean ours. Not Grace and Leo’s, just to clarify.”

“Right,” comes the amused response.

“Something about reaching a milestone just _really_ gets me going,” he goes on, trailing one teasing thumb down the other man’s bicep. “Or maybe it’s just you in those cashmere gloves earlier.”

“You got them for me.”

“Which is why I like them,” Will hits back. He lets his voice drop lower. "You know all of a sudden I'm not feeling so gentlemanly anymore."

"I was hoping you wouldn't."

Closing the gap between them, Will reaches up to kiss him, carefully and tantalizing, and Vince melts into it softly, lazily, thumb tracing soft circles on his back.

“I love you,” Will says as he pulls away slightly.

“I love you too,” Vince says without missing a beat.

Leaning back in, they're wrapped up in each other again, languidly losing themselves in each other’s lips. There’s no urgency, just a slow sense of ease as they guide each other towards their room, without breaking apart, having completely forgotten to even remove their coats at the door.

 

* * *

**2018**

"Grace! Have you seen my letter opener anywhere?" Will calls, rooting around in the crevices of his coffee table. "You haven't used it to dig boogers out of your nose again, have you?"

"Oh, my god, that was _one time_!" Grace sighs, emerging from her room, still in her pajamas. She shakes her head at him. "Why do you need it? Why not just rip your envelopes open like a real man?"

"Because," Will hisses. "I just got a manicure and it wasn't inexpensive, Grace. Now help me look."

"Have you looked behind the couch cushions?"

"Yes, I did. And I found three candy bar wrappers and half a stick of beef jerky that definitely wasn't mine," he replies in annoyance. "This is a four thousand dollar couch, Grace."

"Oh, thank god, I wondered where that went. Can I get it back, or-?"

Grace stares at him quizzically, and Will ignores her, instead diving onto all fours to check under the couch, grimacing when his joints crack loudly.

"God, I need to get back to the gym," he says, pawing blindly underneath the couch, patting the ground until his fingers come into contact with a soft material that most definitely wasn't his letter opener. He grasps it anyway, pulling it out to study it.

He blinks, then inhales sharply before speaking.

"It's Vince's glove," he says.

"Oh. Must have been there a while," Grace says.

"Yeah." Will holds it for a while, trying to resist the instinct to sniff it (it had been lying on the carpet for a while, after all), before collecting himself and rising to his feet.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I don't know. What _can_ I do with it?"

Grace shrugs dumbly. "I dunno. Give it to the homeless?"

Will shoots her an incredulous look. "Really, Grace? Give _one_ glove to the homeless?"

"Hey, it's January, those winos need all the warmth they can get."

Will sighs and throws the woolen glove onto the coffee table, walking past Grace to pour himself a much-needed glass of water.

"Or," Grace says gingerly, "you could return it to him? He must be out of his mind looking for it, you know how he is about gloves."

"Sure, I'll just show up at his door unannounced and say "Hey, I know we barely talk to each other now, and there's a ton of emotional baggage we haven't unloaded yet, but here's a piece of fabric I found under my couch!"? Great plan, Grace."

"Fine. Jeez. I guess we can...bury it? Or burn it, like an effigy," she offers.

Will considers her words thoughtfully. His obsession with de-Vincing the apartment was getting ridiculous, even he knew that. Part of dealing with heartache, he'd slowly realized, was accepting that it was a part of him, and that no object should fully encompass feelings towards an entire person.

He exhales loudly, and shakes his head. "No. No. It's just-- it's just a glove."

"That's the spirit," Grace smiles. "You know, I really do think you're growing."

"Yeah," Will manages, forcing a smile. "I guess I am."

 


	4. Chapter 4

**2009**

 “So then I said to Leo, if you want to do anything _other_ than the missionary position then you’re going to have to start buying me jewelry a little more often-” Grace vents, lifting two dumbbells above her head and back down again, inhaling and exhaling with loud puffs. “Eventually I compromise by doing what Jewish people call the-”

“Say another word and I’ll throw the entire contents of this water bottle in your face,” Will pants.

They’re pacing side by side on their respective treadmills, in a brazen effort to keep up their fitness streak.

Will and Grace had made a pledge earlier that year not to let their looming middle age put a damper on their physical health. Grace wants to look good for a swimsuit season - there’s some new Kardashian woman she wants to emulate - and Will wants to still possess the power of going jogging in Central Park and turn the heads of cute guys without keeling over wheezing afterwards.

“Can’t we just discuss what happened on _Desperate Housewives_ like normal people?” Will complains.

“Ugh. Will, if you wanna discuss that show, call your mother. I’m on a television cleanse right now,” she says matter-of-factly, “Well, except reality shows. They’re educational.” She eyes him carefully as she walks. “Well, how’s your sex life?”

Will throws her an incredulous glare. “None of your business, Tommy Wiseau.”

Grace pouts as she continues her workout. “I told you about mine.”

“Yeah, and I think I already feel my breakfast traveling upwards, so thanks for that.”

“Oh my god _guysguysguysguysguys_ !” Jack bounds up to them. “There’s a cute guy at three  o’clock and I _pretty_ sure he’s into me.”

“Three o’clock, that’s...to the right?” Will says, turning slightly only seeing a very muscular middle aged woman with orange thighs doing squat thrusts.

“No, dummy, to your _left_ ,” Jack sighs. “The hottie who looks like Jude Law and Hugh Jackman procreated and produced a divine athletic superhuman.”

“That’s nine o’clock,” Will corrects him.

“So I never learned how to tell the time. At least I don’t have love handles,” Jack bites back.

Will turns to the left, seeing a handsome, chiseled man with wavy golden brown hair, gritting his teeth as he uses elliptical machine, sweat glistening and biceps bulging.  Will feels his mouth run dry.

“Wow. He’s into you?” he says hoarsely, grabbing his water instinctively and taking a quick swig.

“ _Yes_ , as a matter of fact,” Jack says. “And I know he’s a nine, but he recognized me from one of my commercials so the fact that he _knows_ I’m an established actor gives me a couple extra points. You know. Not that I need them or anything.”

“Wow. Good for you, Jack,” Will congratulates him.

“I need a wingman,” Jack says. “Can’t you go over there and tell him that I once worked with Ang Lee? Or that you’re my ex-lover and that I’m dynamite in the sack. Either one, I’m not picky.”

“Jack,” Will sighs. “Don’t you think we’re getting a little old to be playing these games?”

“Uh, speak for yourself,” Jack says. “I’m not the one who’s thinning on top.”

“Will’s right, you know,” Grace says. “For god’s sake, you’re _forty_ now, Jack. Just go ask him out like a regular person.”

“Oh, hey, Grace. That’s pretty ambitious, using the treadmills and the weights at the same time. You must be fighting pretty hard to lose that baby weight,” Jack taunts.

Grace shoots him with a glower. “I didn’t have a baby, Jack.”

“Oh, well, we all let ourselves go within the first years of marriage. Straight people do, anyway,” he says airily. “Anyway, how about it, Will?”

Will gives one final exhale, and reaches to switch off the treadmill.

“Fine,” he says, stepping off and grabbing a towel to wipe himself off. “I’ll talk to him for you.”

Jack squeals, clapping his hands. “Thank you thank you. I owe you, big guy.” He gives him an encouraging swat on the back as Will heads over to the ellipticals.

As he approaches the hot guy, he can’t help but subtly appreciate the curve of his calves exposed by the tight shorts he's wearing. The man is just finishing his workout, stepping off the machine and taking a water break. He catches Will’s eye and gives him an acknowledging smile, which makes Will feel slightly giddy.

“Hi,” he says dumbly, “I’m Will,” he says, holding out his hand.

The man shakes it. “Nice to meet you, Will. I’ve noticed you, you know,” he replies smoothly.

Will feels slightly shaken. “Uh…”

“I’m Ethan,” the man says quickly. “I was kinda hoping you’d come over here to talk to me.”

Will blinks, and looks around the room, feeling paranoid he was being Pink’d again. “Really?”

“Really,” Ethan flirts.

Will blushes, and has to remind himself that A) he’s in a happy, long-term relationship and B) he’s supposed to be advertising Jack.

“So, Ethan,” he says, attempting to put on a more charismatic air, “I don’t suppose you watch a lot of TV?”

Ethan smiles, amused. “A little. Why, have I seen you in anything?”

“Oh, god no, I’m not an actor,” Will says.

“You could be. You’ve got the face for it,” is the reply, and Will has to stop himself from giggling.

“No, no, it’s just that my friend Jack is an actor. He dabbles in television, and-”

“And let me guess, you’re his wingman?” Ethan guesses.

“...Yeah, and in case you can’t already tell, I’m doing a terrible job it at,” Will admits.

“Maybe, but you’re still cute,” says the man. “Hey, give me your phone.”

Will’s mouth falls open, and he’s so addled that he’s pretty sure he would have handed this man anything - his wallet, his keys, his gym sneakers if he had asked for them. Instinctively he hands over his iPhone without thinking, and before he knows it the man has punched his digits into it.

“Hey, I have to go, but call me sometime, okay?” Ethan says, before winking and getting up to leave, handing back his phone.

Will says nothing, transfixed and staring at the now foreign object in his hand.

He’d never been flirted with like that before, and it had happened so quickly he’d barely had time to stop and enjoy it.

“Will! Will!” Jack yells, waving a hand in front of his face.

Will blinks, returning to his body.

“Did you just poach the guy right in front of me?” Jack cries indignantly. “That was _awful._  That was _shameless._ That guy could have been my soulmate,” he stabs a dramatic finger in the direction of the door - “and now I’ll never know!”

“Jack, I didn’t poach him-”

“Doesn’t the concept of first dibs mean anything to you?”

“Jack, I have a boyfriend.”

“That’s right. You have a boyfriend,” comes the stern voice of Grace as she joins them, giving Will a pointed stare. “So what the hell was that?”

“That was nothing!” Will protests. “I was over there, talking Jack up like _he told me to_ and then all of a sudden he’s calling me cute and giving me his number! I had literally no part in it.”

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Will,” Jack accuses. “I saw you. You were practically drooling on the floor, and then you threw your phone at him like some horny desperate caveman who hasn’t gotten laid in six months.”

“Guys. Come on. Don’t gang up on me. It’s not like either of you are the most moral people when it comes to flirting with other guys.”

Both Jack and Grace gasp theatrically.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Grace, remember when Leo was away in Cambodia? You revelled in attention from men. Like that one guy at the restaurant?”

“Oh, you cannot even _begin_ to equate that. I didn’t ask for his number!”

“Neither did I!” Will cries. “Look, I think we can all agree that what I did didn’t constitute cheating-”

“Uh, I don’t care about that,” Jack huffs. “I’m just pissed off you took my guy.”

“You’ll get over him,” Will says.

“No I won’t.”

“Cute guy. Green shorts. Six o’ clock.”

Jack immediately takes interest, running off in the wrong direction and leaving the two alone.

Grace folds her arms and looks at Will. “Well?”

“Well, what?” he says agitatedly.

She clicks her tongue at him and motions towards Will’s phone. “Aren’t you going to delete his number?”

Will purses his lips. “Can’t I keep it?”

“ _Will!_ ”

“ _Obviously_ I won’t call him,” he says hastily. “B-but as like a trophy or something? Guys _never_ give me their number. In my experience, I give them three of mine, _plus_ my business card and then I never hear from them again. It’s nice to be chased for once.”

“I get that this is an ego thing, but Will? Seriously, a _trophy_?  You’re-”

“Dating, I know, I know,” Will says ashamedly, covering his face with his hands.

Grace frowns, then makes a loud honk like an incorrect buzzer on a game show. “Uh, _wrong_ , Will! Dating is when you shave your legs, bother to wear makeup, and then change your locks when they turn out to have six toes. You and Vince aren’t _dating._ You’ve been together for nearly three years, three and a half if you count the first time you were together. You’re _married_ , Will.”

“We’re not married-”

“Except you kind of _are._ In some ways, more than I am.”

Will knows that Grace is right, as much as he hates to admit it, so he unlocks his phone and goes to delete the number.

“Okay, I get it. I’m an idiot,” he states plainly as he hits the ‘Delete contact’ button. “I never should have given him my phone.”

“Big of you to admit that,” Grace says approvingly. “So, are you gonna tell Vince?”

Will raises an eyebrow. “That I got a guy’s number? Why would I tell him that?”

“Because he’s your husband and husbands tell each other everything. Plus, if you hide it, that just makes it even more incriminating.”

“Huh,” Will says. “You don’t think he’d get mad?”

“Not nearly as mad as he’d be if he found some guy named _Ethan_ on your phone…”

Will pockets his phone and raises his hands in a surrender. “It’s gone, he’s gone!”

“Also, think of it this way: If Vince got some guy’s number, you wouldn’t want him to hide it from you, right?”

“I...guess not?” Will considers.

Grace smiles and links arms with his. “Come on, let’s go get a smoothie. We’ve earned it.”

* * *

 Vince works a late shift that night, and Will waits in bed with his Kindle, checking the digital clock on the nightstand every few seconds.

When he finally hears the front door shut, he perks up and sets aside his e-reader, smiling sleepily as Vince slips through the door quietly.

“...You didn’t have to wait up for me, you know,” Vince says, upon noticing Will is awake.

Will bites his lip. “I know.”

“My hours are getting crazier and crazier,” he goes on, unbuttoning his shirt. "And my captain got swine flu last week, if you can believe that-"

“You don’t have to get undressed,” Will says. “You can come over here and I can do it for you.”

“ _Flirt_ ,” Vince accuses, heading towards the en suite bathroom. Will reaches across and catches his hand gently to stop him.

“Hey, on a scale of one to ten,” he says, “how tired are you right now?”

Vince hums in consideration. “I dunno, maybe a twelve?”

“Mmm, you sound a little out of it. Your voice gets all...gruff and sexy when you’re tired.”

“Oh, my god, Will.” Vince shakes his head amusedly.

“Hey, I thought you were on desk duty?” Will inquires.

“Desk duty can be tiring.”

Will sits up. “You’re not too tired for a kiss, are you?”

“I’ll think about it,” Vince teases. “But right now I gotta go moisturize.”

He slips his hand away and Will pouts, getting back under the sheets and waiting as Vince turns on the faucet.

“You know,” he says loudly, thinking it was a good a time as ever to bring it up, “I got someone’s number today.”

“You got a what?” comes the bored reply. The running water stops.

“A guy’s number. At the gym,” Will says, laughing a little to brush it off as an arbitrary occurrence. He listens, slightly anxious.

There’s silence for a while.

Will can hear the sloughing sound of tentative lotioning; which stretches on for half a minute before Vince finally gives his response.

“Okay,” he says simply.

“I didn’t even _ask_ for it, that’s the funny part,” Will says, louder. “He just gave it to me within twenty seconds of meeting.”

The faucet turns back on.

Will can hear Vince brushing his teeth now. He’s not sure if he’s angry or genuinely disinterested. He continues speaking.

“I mean, that kind of thing probably happens to you all the time-”

“Not really,” Vince says, voice muffled by toothpaste.

Will grimaces, and waits.

“Are you sure about that?” he says. “I mean, at some point I’m _sure_ you’d been frisking some perp who might have said, _that’s a strong grip you’ve got there, officer…_ ”

Vince finishes up in the bathroom and heads to the bureau to grab his night clothes.

“ _Pretty_ sure that only happens in adult movies,” Vince says, going back into the bathroom to change.

“Right! Right. I’m just saying, it’s not an issue if we ever accidentally end up with people’s numbers, right? I mean we’re two good looking guys. We can’t help it if we get a little attention, sometimes-”

“...You still got his number?”

“Oh, no, I deleted it,” Will says immediately, suddenly glad that he did. “You can check my phone, if you want. I have it right here-”

“I don’t need to check your phone, Will,” Vince says flatly.

Will feels cold all of a sudden. It occurred to him that he’d had no real anticipation of how Vince would react; or whether or not he actually wanted a reaction.

He sighs, and goes to rest his head on his pillow.

“You know,” he says, changing the subject. “I feel like I don’t get to see you that often anymore. You know, with your late shifts.”

He closes his eyes and hears the door shut, and feels the mattress dip and Vince joins him in bed.

“I know,” Vince says. “I’m sorry about that.”

Will opens his eyes, squinting, and all of a sudden is struck by how beautiful his partner is, when lying still and motionless. With his thick lashes, angular nose and the soft curve of his lips, the guy at the gym really doesn’t hold a candle to him.

“Cut that out,” Vince murmurs.

“Cut what out?” Will says innocently, quirking a smile and resting his head on one knuckle.

“Staring at me.” Vince opens his eyes. “I can always tell when you’re staring.”

“...Did I ever tell you the soft glow of the lamplight really brings out the brown in your eyes?” Will ponders out loud.

“You don't have to kiss my ass, y'know. 'M not mad at you,” Vince says tiredly.

Will watches his eyelids drift shut again, and he reaches to give him an indignant nudge. “Am I not gonna get a kiss goodnight?” he says.

“If you wanna kiss me, go ahead, I’m not gonna stop you,” Vince mumbles, eyes still shut.

Will gives up. He’d already exceeded his personal limit of coaxing conversation from his partner, and he definitely didn’t want to become one of those couples who force romance simply because they rarely get to spend time together. He switches off the lamp.

“Goodnight, Vince,” he sighs.

He barely gets a chance to let his head hit the pillow before he hears a “ _Damn it_ ,” and feels two hands grab his face firmly in the dark and then suddenly Vince’s lips are on his, kissing with an unusual amount of aggression. Will gasps into it in surprise, his mouth falling lax. “ _Vince-_ ” he starts, muffled because his lips are being commandeered, taken over by the other man who continues to kiss him, open-mouthed and messy, in the dark. Will hums, grabbing at Vince's shoulders blindly and struggling to keep up, feeling a fist tighten in his hair and teeth grazing his lip and _wow, he hasn’t been kissed like this in a while._

By the time Vince pulls away slightly with a soft smack, with two unyielding hands still gripping each side of his face, Will can only let out a staggered laugh in response.

“...Vince, all I needed was a peck,” he breathes finally, his voice an octave higher than usual.  

“Yeah, well, maybe I was feeling a little too territorial for a peck,” Vince justifies plainly.

“The gym guy?” Will says sheepishly.

“You really thought I'd let you get away with that?” he goads, smiling a little.

“...I guess I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t.”

Vince pulls away, back to his side of the bed, and Will tries not to whine from the loss of contact.

“I’m tired, so I’m gonna get some sleep,” he murmurs. “I’ll get you back for that more in the morning.”

“Looking forward to it,” Will says, feeling a twist low in his stomach.

“Oh, and Will - gym guy?”

“Uh huh?”

“Was he cute?"

Will hums in consideration. “You know, he really wasn’t all that much.”

Vince seems satisfied with the answer. “C’mere,” he says softly. Will nestles up closer, and Vince wraps an arm loosely around his chest, pulling him closer slightly. Will smiles to himself and closes his eyes.

* * *

 

  **2018**

“Uh, tall! Actor! Makes goofy faces!” Grace yells. “Falls over a lot!”

Will blinks. “Dick van Dyke?” he guesses, holding his iPad above his head.

“No, uh, female!” Grace yells, motioning desperately with her hands. “No brain-to-mouth filter. Disrespectful of other people’s cultures!”

“Oh, oh, Jennifer Lawrence!” Will cries, and dips the tablet as Grace cheers.

“Okay okay next one -” she squints at the name, then throws her arms up haphazardly. “Butter.”

“Paula Deen,” Will hits back instantly.

“Yes!” Grace cries, rushing to wrap him in a celebratory hug.

“Alright, I’m done with game night,” Karen sighs from the couch. “There’s nothing more unappetizing than witnessing your bizarre mating ritual while my liver is just innocently trying to metabolize this Manhattan.”

Jack nods. “Yeah, and Will, I don’t mean to interrupt your proverbial sex life with the whispering possibility of a _real_ one,” he says, grabbing Will’s phone from the coffee table, “but you just got a match on one of your several dating apps.”

Will leans over to grab the phone. “I don’t have _several_ dating apps, Jack. ...Just the three.”

He unlocks his phone and looks at his new match. Sensing a familiarity in the picture, he blinks.

“...I feel like I know this guy from somewhere,” he says, taking in the green eyes, square jaw, and slight stubble. Cogs turn in his head.

Then he reads the words: Ethan, 47. 3.4 miles away. _Just a simple Libra guy. Enjoys keeping fit, travelling and guys with good senses of humor. Hit me up for a good time._

“You’re kidding,” he breathes.

“I know, I know, it’s a miracle that someone actually swiped right on you. The universe probably just sensed you haven’t gotten any action in a while, and it's throwing you a bone,” Jack explains. “Just take it as a blessing.”

“No, no, I could have sworn I've met this guy,” Will says. “Nine years ago. At the gym.”

Grace peers over his shoulder, intrigued. “Oh my god, really? And he just swiped right on you?”

“How do you even remember him?” Jack says. “Is he wearing the same outfit, because that is a _red flag_ , my friend.”

Will looks at Grace, gauging her expression. “What do I do?”

“He’s cute! Swipe right!” she says excitedly.

Will frowns. “Hey, what happened to your overly meticulous judgement? Shouldn’t you be picking him apart? Judging his picture? Overanalyzing his bio? That’s what you usually do.”

“Oh, Will, get real. You’re not getting any younger,” Grace says. “If any guy under fifty wants to do you, it’s an opportunity you don’t waste.”

“Mean,” Will scowls. “...But touché.”

He swipes right before he has a chance to stop himself, and slips his phone back in his pocket.


	5. Chapter 5

**2010**

The shrill ring of the phone sounds out, deafening in the night. Will grunts as he opens one eye, half-asleep, and grabs clumsily at his night stand to collect his phone, sitting up and blinking rapidly at the unforgiving brightness of his smartphone screen. He stabs his thumb sleepily at the ‘accept call’ button.

“Grace?” he groans.

“Hey, Will!” Grace says sweetly.

“Why are you calling so late? This better be an emergency, like Leo broke his leg and you’re currently calling from under an avalanche.”

“First of all, you’re on speakerphone, so Leo _heard_ that,” Grace says pointedly, stopping to take a sip of hot chocolate. “and I totally forgot about time zone differences, so I apologize. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Will sighs. “At three AM? No, you didn’t wake me, I was just in the middle of a rousing game of croquet in Battery park.”

“Wow. Awake for five seconds and you’re already in the sarcasm place,” Grace comments. She’s relaxing on the couch, fuzzy slippered feet propped up on Leo’s lap, grinning into her cell phone. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Will says. “Granted, I miss you a lot more during the day…”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. But if it’s any consolation, this Swiss chalet is _gorgeous_.”

“Why would that be a consolation to me?” Will says.

“...I don’t know. Look, Will, you need to come to this place sometime. Not to ski, because, eugh, _sports_ , right? But there’s this hot tub with these jets that just - ugh, it’s amazing, you need to-”

Will holds the phone away from his ear slightly, wincing at the sound of her chipper voice.

“Sorry. Sorry, sorry. I’m just having such a good time and I wish you were here with me.”

Leo glares at Grace. “Why would you wish _Will_ was with us on our second honeymoon?”

“Woah. Babe. This is _not_ our second honeymoon,” Grace says firmly, tucking the phone to her shoulder. “You think I’d agree to a _ski_ _trip_ as a honeymoon? No, were going somewhere much more exotic for our second honeymoon. This is just a cute little cabin we’re chilling in for a few days.”

“It’s a resort, Grace-”

“Leo, you _know_ I don’t ski!”

“If you just gave it a chance, Grace-”

“Leo, I swear to god-”

“You’re not really engaging in the _sights_ , or the _culture-_ ”

“Hey, I _am_ engaging in the culture. I had, like a whole pot of fondue at that restaurant just now, did I not?”

“Grace, there’s more to Switzerland than fondue and hot tubs.”

Will purses his lips. “Hey, guys, not that I don’t enjoy listening to your marital disputes at 3am” he complains. “...but if I were in the mood for that, I’d just crawl into my nook and watch an old rerun of Jerry Springer, not call long distance to Switzerland to hear you argue about _cheese_.”

“Sorry, Will,” Grace grimaces. She takes him off speakerphone and holds the cell phone back to her ear. “I didn’t mean to call so late. But I just needed to hear your voice.”

“Well, I have just woken up, so it might take a few minutes for my real voice to arrive…” Will grunts, running a tired hand through his hair.

“Well, how are you? How’s Vince?” Grace presses.

“I’m good, Vince is…” Will looks down at the sleeping man next to him, who is beginning to stir a little. “Sleeping.”

“You guys need to go on a romantic trip like this sometime,” Grace says. “Maybe not here, on second thought. Somewhere warm and tropical.”

“I don’t know, Grace. We’re trying to be wise with expenses.”

“C’mon, Will, you’re in your mid-forties. You’re in your prime.”

“Prime is mid-forties?”

“Prime is whatever age _we_ are, Will, and don’t you forget it!” Grace says matter-of-factly. “Anyway, call me in the morning. Or...whatever’s morning for you. Wait.” She pauses. “That would mean 3am for me. _God_ this is so hard!”

“How about I call you, _my_ evening, _your_ morning?” Will suggests.

“Good. Perfect. Bye, Will!”

“Bye, love you,” he smiles, finally hanging up.

As soon as he does, Vince sighs and turns over in bed.

“Do you have to call each other so late?” he complains, annoyed.

“Hey, Grace called _me_ ,” Will says, putting aside his phone and returning to his sleeping position.

“Next time, don’t answer,” Vince says.

“I’m not gonna _not_ answer, it’s Grace,” Will says, laughing harshly.

“Right. Of course, I forgot. _Grace_ is the most important person in this household, even though she doesn’t live here-”

“Vince-”

“It’s not like I have to be up at 6am or anything-”

“I’m sorry, _geez_ , it’s just one two minute call. It won’t happen again.”

“God forbid any of my relatives call during a normal hour,” Vince mutters.

Will sits up, affronted. “Okay, what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“I’m sleeping, Will.”

“No, you’re going to finish what you were saying.” Will switches on the lamp and folds his arms. “You were saying?”

Vince sighs. “I just feel like we’re all about Grace, all the time. Grace calls. Grace video chats. Grace hangs out here five nights a week to drink our good wine, not to mention your plans with Grace _always_ take precedence over plans with _me…_ ”

Will listens, taken aback a little.

“...and if any of _my_ people visit, or even just call, it’s suddenly this big inconvenience that I’m expected to complain about later…”

“Are you talking about Joe and Larry? ‘Cause we always complain about Joe and Larry.”

“I’m talking about _my_ friends. _My_ family. They’re the “guests”. Sometimes I even feel like I’m the guest, that Grace lives here more than I do,” Vince vents. “Okay, I’m done, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re saying, you don’t feel like you _live_ here?” Will says, one hand on his shoulder. “Vince, that’s crazy. You’ve lived here for nearly four years now.”

“You know what, just forget about it and go back to sleep,” Vince murmurs, turning over.

Will lifts his gaze from his partner, and stares straight ahead, vexed.

“I don’t want us to go to bed mad at each other,” he says.

“I'm not mad.”

“ _Alright_ ,” Will concedes, taking the moment to fluff his pillow, whacking at it aggressively. “ _Fine_.”

* * *

 The next morning finds Jack rooting through Will’s refrigerator, salvaging for snacks.

“Hey, have you got anything gluten, fat and dairy-free?” he asks. “I’ve got a guy coming over and he has a _lot_ of of dietary requirements. Also he’s modelling in a swimsuit competition, so-” he grabs the whipped cream and squirts a little straight into his mouth. “Hey, Will?”

Will is sat at the table, squinting at one of his legal briefs. “...Uh, Jack, can you come over here and read this smallprint for me?”

Jack hums, bending and reading over Will’s shoulder. “Something boring about subsidiaries, and liquidation of assets - ugh, I just said so many big words, my mind is hurting.” Jack grabs protectively at his skull. He tilts his head at Will who is still squinting frustratedly at his paper. “Why’d you need me to read it for you? Have you forgotten how to read?”

“No,” Will says irritably. “I just...can’t see so well in this lighting.”

Jack frowns, then shrugs.  

“Hey, when is your boyfriend gonna be done in that shower? He’s been in there for ages. Does he have that Catholic guilt thing where he has to bathe for eight hours to wash off the sins of sodomy?” he laughs. “‘Cause I’ve been there, my friend. Javier may be a good time, but the water bill? Doesn’t make up for it.”

Will glares at Jack. “He does _not_ have Catholic guilt, he just likes to take his time,” he says. He tilts his head bitterly. “It’s not like there’s been any sins of which to speak, lately, anyway-”

Jack holds up his hands to stop him. “Look, Will, I’m not here to hear about how you two have turned into a sexless lesbian couple. I’m just here for the snacks, mm'kay?” He promptly picks up a pack of pizza rolls and sails towards the door. “Tell your boyfriend to hurry up.”

When he exits, Will frustratedly picks up his papers and begin to pile it into his open briefcase angrily.

The bathroom door opens and Vince walks out, studying his hair in a compact mirror.

“ _Finally_ , you’re done. You take forever in there,” Will mutters.

Vince goes to pour himself a coffee, rubbing a soothing hand on Will’s back. “You okay? You seem even bitchier than usual,” he comments, raising his cup to take a sip.

Will fumes for a moment, before opening the lid of his laptop and tapping the screen. “Can you read that?” he says, pointing at the PDF file on the screen. “From your distance?”

Vince tilts his head, reading, then nods. “Yeah, it says-”

“Okay, okay, I get it, you don’t have to actually _read_ it,” Will mutters. He takes a seat at the table and stares, his eyes fixed on the words, which only seem to be a blurry mess.

“Will?” Vince says carefully. “Can’t you read it?”

“Of course I can read it,” Will snaps. Then he deflates, sinking his head into his hands. “...No. I can’t read it.”

Vince slowly takes a seat next to him.

“Have you thought about seeing an optometrist?” he suggests. “Maybe get some glasses?”

Will scoffs. “Can you imagine _me_ in glasses?” he says, pulling his laptop shut.

Vince shrugs. “I think you’d look cute in glasses.”

Will blinks, then smiles a little. “...Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wouldn’t look like a total dork?” he says. “Not to mention an _ageing_ dork?”

“No, you would,” Vince admits, causing Will’s eyes to widen indignantly, and then go to nudge him, “ _but-_ ” Vince says, grabbing Will’s arm to defend himself, “you’d pull off that look, easy. _I’m_ the one who couldn’t pull off glasses.”

“Eh, I don’t know,” Will says, observing him subtly. "I think you’d look sorta sexy."

“Well, you’re never gonna find out because I have powerful retinas,” Vince says smugly, sitting back in his chair.

“Are you calling my retinas _weak_?” Will gasps.

“No, just not as strong as mine,” Vince takes another sip from his coffee.

“Well, I guess I make up for it by being stronger in other places.”

“Oh really, like where?” Vince challenges.

They lock eyes and share a mischievous look. “...Well, for one thing,” Will says, “I’ve been working out every day this week and I’m _prett-_ y confident in my arms.”

“Huh,” Vince says, studying him meticulously. “I can’t really see them under that suit of yours.”

“I could always prove it to you in other ways.” Will looks over his shoulder. “I could have you pinned to that couch in five seconds,” he adds airily.

Vince almost chokes on his coffee, but recovers, one hand over his mouth. “Uh huh?” he says. “Are you gonna let me finish my coffee first?”

Will can’t help but smile as he takes his briefcase and clicks it shut. “Well, I’m headed to work,” he says, leaning to press a chaste kiss to Vince’s cheek. Vince grabs his wrist lightly to stop him pulling away.

“Woah, you’re going now?” he says, sitting up. “I could have sworn you just challenged me to a duel.”

Will furrows his brow, laughing. “Uh, now?”

“Uh, _yeah_ , now. You have to put your money where your mouth is, Truman.”

Will chokes out a laugh, eyeing him incredulously. Fun, intimate games between them were usually reserved for after-hours, after they’d have a few drinks and felt relaxed, tipsy and carefree. Mornings were exclusively about rushing around, downing coffee, wordlessly passing each other in the morning like they’re nothing more than obstacles to each other in their route to work.

Will never felt even remotely in the mood during morning, much less on a weekday, when his mind is too addled with matters of business or deadlines. But as his partner stares him down wickedly, Will feels a smile forming back on his face. He takes his briefcase and tosses it unceremoniously onto the floor beside him, without breaking eye contact, and raises his eyebrows suggestively. Vince returns the look, half-mocking.

“Well, I suppose I do have…” Will glances at his watch. “...a couple of minutes. Are you ready to feel my wrath, D’Angelo?”

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Will is half-amused, half-interested as he steps back towards Vince, his eyes flashing.

“You know what gets me going the most?” Vince says. Will’s eyes widen in surprise but waits for the admission, “...that Grace is sleeping in Switzerland right now and can’t call to ruin this morning.”

Will rolls his eyes but continues approaching him flirtatiously “...I’d reject the call, anyway,” he replies, leaning over, both hands on the table, and gives him another chaste - but this time lingering - peck. Vince hums into it.

“You wouldn’t,” he whispers.

“I’m getting a _lot_ of challenges from you today,” Will murmurs back. “How about I don't call her for a whole week? Would that get you going?”

Vince winces. “...It kinda would.”

“Hmm, I thought it might.”

“I like…” Vince says tentatively, more serious now. He slides a hand across the table, covering one of Will’s. “...I like having you all to myself.”

Will gives him a small smile, endeared to know that the confession is more of a heartfelt one than a suggestive one. “...I like having you all to myself, too,” he echoes, stroking a single thumb across Vince’s hand.

“Well,” Vince says, “You’ll always have me to yourself.”

Will grins, leaning in to kiss him again, moving his hand to hold the nape of his neck. Vince accepts it eagerly, shrinking into it with what almost seems like a sense of relief. What was once a frantic and frustrating morning has suddenly slowed down, silent except for their lips moving together. 

"God, I could just drown in you sometimes," Will murmurs after pulling away slightly. 

"Why don't you?" Vince replies.

"Because it's - " Will's eyes shift to his watch. "God, it's 8:30, I should really get going."

He stands up straight, slipping his hand away to pat down his suit. He checks his watch. “Raincheck?"

Vince picks up his now lukewarm cup of coffee. “Raincheck,” he confirms.

Will looks around him, confusedly. “Uh, Vince, have you seen my briefcase anywhere?” he murmurs.

“You threw it on the ground,” Vince says bluntly, nodding towards the carpet. Will glances down, blinking.

“I don’t see it.”

“Oh, my god, Will.” Vince reaches down and grabs it, tossing it to Will who grabs it clumsily, dazed. “You go to work. I’ll make you an appointment with the optometrist.”

Will smiles. “Thank _god_ I have you to take care of me while I descend into my senile state of blindness.”

“Yeah, thank god, right?” Vince mutters, grabbing Will’s tie and pulling him in for one last kiss. “See you tonight.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

* * *

Will is true to his word, and fulfills his rain-check within five seconds of arriving home that night. Having removed his jacket and (once again) discarded his briefcase, he takes Vince by the shoulders - the man had already been sitting on the couch perusing a magazine - and all but shoves him playfully back onto the cushions, catching the other man completely off guard. 

"Woah, _Will_ -" Vince laughs awkwardly as Will's eyes flash at the man secured beneath him.

“What did I tell you?” Will says triumphantly, taking Vince's wrists and pinning them against the couch. 

“Will, uh -” Vince starts nervously.

“I thought about you all day today,” he breathes, before kissing him firmly. He quickly moves to nibble on the area just behind his ear, although the response is not the one he hoped to elicit.

“Will, stop,” Vince says, grappling at Will’s shoulders to stop him, just as Will was in the process of grabbing a denim-clad thigh. Will slowly sits up, blinking in confusion, and Vince puts his hand on his neck sheepishly. “We, uh, got company,” he says finally.

Will looks up in horror to notice the young girl sitting in the television nook, boredly reading a book.

“Hi, Will,” Hannah says, waving a robotic salute without lifting her eyes from the page.

“Hi, Hannah,” Will manages to choke out, feeling his skin flush with embarrassment.

“Larry came over and said he needed a last minute babysitter,” Vince rushes to explain. “He had dinner reservations and his last one canceled, so I said we’d do it-”

“Oh. No. No. That’s fine,” Will says, his voice an octave higher. He stumbles to his feet and laughs sheepishly. “So, uh, Hannah-”

“I should probably catch you up to speed,” Hannah says. “ _Yes_ , I’ve already eaten, _no_ , I don’t have any homework to do and _yes,_ I’ve had the birds-and-the-bees talk so you don’t need to struggle through an awkward explanation about what I just saw.” She slams the book shut. “Can I go see _Tangled_?”

Will blinks.

“Um…”

“She wants to see _Tangled_ , Will,” Vince mutters.

“Okay. So, are we all going, or-?”

“We should all go. There’s a family discount for two adults and kids under twelve. It just makes sense,” Hannah shrugs. “Just give me fifteen minutes to re-do my ponytail and I’ll be ready.”

With that, the young girl heads into the bathroom and shuts the door.

There’s a silence that stretches for an uncomfortable amount of time. Will looks down at Vince who is still on the couch looking quasi-debauched.

“I’m sorry, Will.”

“No, no, it’s fine. It could be fun, y’know, babysitting. Seeing a Disney movie…” Will trails off. “...With a kid. Who just saw me try to fool around with you.”

“Will, it’s fine. She’s probably seen it before with Joe and Larry.”

“Oh, like _hell_ she has,” Will says. “Their sex life died the second they adopted her and you know it.”

“Uh, guys?”

They both turn around to see Hannah standing there.

“My hair tie snapped. Do you have a spare scrunchie anywhere?” she says.

Will and Vince share a weary glance.

"Uh - check Grace's old bathroom," Will says flatly. Hannah gives him a tight smile and leaves the room. As soon as she's gone, Will sinks back onto the couch beside Vince. He looks across to see that Vince is trying to keep himself from laughing.

"Aren't we supposed to wait, like, ten years before we can laugh about something like this?" he complains.

"I'm sorry," Vince shakes his head, covering his mouth to conceal his amusement. "But, uh - if it makes you feel any better, you were right."

"About what?"

"Your arms _are_ pretty strong."

Will ducks his head. "Aw, well, thank you."

"I'm gonna need a rematch later, though." 

Will closes his eyes and takes a meditating breath. "You know...I have never despised Joe and Larry more than in this moment."

* * *

**2018**

Will, unsuspectingly, finds himself dating much more frequently now than he did in his youth.

It makes sense, though, once he comes to think of it; he’s living in more progressive times, where openly dating as a gay man is easier. Not to mention the sheer amount of accessibility of the modern age - he has an application on his phone that’s practically a treasure map of all the local potential dates.

When Jack had first introduced him to dating apps, he’d shrugged them off as a narcissistic and self-indulgent way to cut corners in the dating world. But as the world became more and more interconnected, he’d realized he needed to swallow his pride and adapt, as not to risk getting left behind. _And get real_ , Will, he’d told himself the day he finally hit the App Store button in search of something other than Yahtzee or Words With Friends, _you’re not going to find, ‘the one’ in the laundry room, or waiting in line for a pumpkin seed muffin at the same coffee-shop you’ve been frequenting for years._

Dating in 2018 is so easy, it seems, that you can introduce yourself, meet up, experience an entire relationship, start to finish, in quicker time than it would usually take just to receive that first phone call back in the 90’s.

The only snag is the post-Vince-ness of it all. Will hasn’t been single in years.

In fact, the last time he was single, Bush was president, boot cut jeans were in, and cell phones were used primarily as cell phones. Will almost feels like he’s thrown in the deep end of a world he doesn’t entirely recognize. Jack, on the other hand, is any expert at being single, and had educated him the year before.

 

_“This,” Jack had said, pointing at the app, “is where you write your bio. Everything interesting about you has to be squeezed in under 300 characters. No-one bothers to read more than that.”_

_“Okay…” Will had muttered, gingerly opening up the keyboard on the touchscreen. “How about...I'm Will, I’m fifty-”_

_“Stop, stop, stop,” Jack said, hitting a palm against his face. “Thank god you have me to guide you. Never mention your real age.”_

_“What’s wrong with my real age?” Will said._

_“Nothing’s wrong with your age. I’m sure you’ll get tons of messages from young twinks in their twenties looking for a sugar daddy to mooch off of-”_

_“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll put 48,” Will snapped._

_“Slap some concealer on those crow’s feet and do something about those gray hairs,” Jack said, tapping Will on the head obnoxiously, “and you’ll almost pull it off.”_

_Will updated his profile, and sighed, trying to come up with a good bio._

_“Should I mention that I’m a lawyer?”_

_“Oh, lord no. Huge boner killer,” Jack tutted. “You know what, pass it over.” He reached across and grabbed the phone from Will._

_“Hey!-”_

_“Okay, you give me the facts, and I’ll translate it into something we can actually work with.”_

_“Fine,” Will sulked._

_“What’s your zodiac sign? People pay a lot of attention to that kinda thing these days. Especially millennials.” Jack rolled his eyes. “No, seriously, this guy wouldn’t sleep with me when he found out I was an Aquarius. Said I had bad energy. His loss, right?”_

_“Okay, uh-” Will relented. “I’m kind of a Libra/Scorpio cusp?”_

_“Hm. Let’s put Scorpio, it sounds sexier.”_

_“If you say so.”_

_“Instead of lawyer, lets just put businessman. Sounds vague, mysterious, and Christian Grey-esque.”_

_“Yeah, maybe don’t mention that I own any dungeons.”_

_“Oh, yeah, sure, you save that stuff for the second date anyway,” Jack said, waving a hand flippantly. “How about your hobbies?”_

_“Fine cuisine, filmic arts?” Will suggested._

_“Uh, translation: stuffing your face and watching Netflix all day on your couch. Why not just put ‘I’m a fatty’, it’s less characters,” Jack said harshly._

_“Fine. Put athletic."_

_Jack punched the words into the bio, humming. “Okay, one more thing. Would you consider yourself to be a bear, cub, twink, twunk, otter, jock, or wolf?”_

_Will stared at him incredulously. “I’m a human being,” he said._

_Jack sighed. “Wow, you have been out of the game a while, my friend.”_

_“I’m sorry, Jack, but I’m not a woodland creature or a - a - I’m sorry, what’s a ‘twunk’?”_

_“Forget it, i'll just put one for you. I already know the answer anyway."_

_“Which one are you putting? Jack! Jack-” Will struggled to grab for the phone while Jack held it away from his reach, typing rapidly._

_“Trust me, I know what I’m doing, Will,” Jack huffed. Will gave up, throwing himself back onto the couch in defeat._

_“And lastly - would you describe yourself as masc4masc?”_

_Will squints at him in confusion._

_Jack laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, who am I kidding?” He hit “save profile” and threw the phone back to Will, who reached to catch it clumsily. “ Now all we need is a good profile picture.”_

_“Oh, okay, just give me a second to find some good lighting…” Will said, beginning to stand up._

_Jack shook his head, tutting again. “Oh, no way are you using a recent photo. Find one from about ten or twelve years ago.”_

_“But Jack, that’s-”_

_“Immoral? Misleading? Deceptive? Welcome to the modern dating world, my friend,” Jack said, clapping a hand on his shoulder._

_Will shifted uncomfortably._

_“Try the photoshoot picture from Grace’s wedding. Your hair looked okay-ish that day,” Jack goes on airily._

_Will looked at his phone and sighed._

 

There’s a certain loss in dignity in dating, he’d noticed that day, especially over the age of fifty. Wherever it was hooking up or searching for "the one", Will feels scrutinized in a youth-obsessed, label-dependent culture.

Ethan - or "Gym Guy" as Will can't stop calling him in his head - seems less daunting, though. They're a similar age, and seem to have similar taste in movies and appreciation for social justice. On top of that, he seems normal. Will feels guilty for liking that; but he's certainly not up for any 2am parties catered with venom-bread.  
So he prepares himself for a nice, normal date: dinner and a movie. It's so normal, Will wants to cry from relief.

Will meets him in the restaurant, and thankfully, he's not the first one to arrive. Standing beside the table, Ethan grins, beckoning him closer. He's more handsome than his picture, more handsome than Will remembers, and most importantly, he's not wearing the same outfit as his profile picture. Cherry, cherry, cherry, jackpot. 

"Will, hey!" Ethan says. He immediately goes to move Will's chair out for him.

He's...chivalrous, Will notes.

Will takes a seat, mirroring the smile. "Ethan," he says. They shake hands as Ethan takes his place opposite Will. "It's so great to finally meet you."  

"C'mon, Will, we've met before," Ethan teases as they both pick up their menus. 

Will looks up, alarmed. 

"Remember? At 24 Hour Fitness? Way back in..." He stops to inhale contemplatively, "I wanna say 2009?" 

Will covers his face with the menu, pretending to be looking at the dishes. "Wow, the Kao Phad sounds good," he deflects.

"It's okay, Will," Ethan says. "I'm not mad that you didn't call me." He pauses. "Unless you genuinely don't remember me, in which case, yeah, it's nice to meet you."

Will retreats from his menu and forces a smile. "I remember you," he admits. 

"I knew it," Ethan says excitedly. "See, I remember you because you were a regular, and I thought you were cute."

Will smiles bashfully. 

"But when you didn't call me, I asked around and found out you were dating someone. _God_ , I was embarrassed."

"Oh, no, it's fine. I was dating someone then, but it's over now," Will says nonchalantly, waving a hand as if it were nothing. 

Ethan smiles. "Hey, uh, so before we fill up on bread and get into...I don't know, which mini-series we've been binging, is there anything I need to know about you first? Like, is there anything you might wanna get off your chest?"

"What do you mean?" Will says, with a perplexed smile.

"You know. You voted for Trump. You have six months to live. You have...webbed feet or an abnormal growth somewhere. Stuff like that," Ethan says.

Will blinks. "Well, I do have this mole," he says, pointing to his cheek.

Ethan laughs. "If that's the biggest bane of your existence," he says, raising his glass, "then you are one sublime creature, Will Truman."

Will covers his face bashfully, "Oh, stop," he says. "You're way too much."

In truth, Will could have said any number of strange things. 

_My mother rarely held me as a baby._

_I've been in a co-dependent relationship with my best friend for thirty-three years._

_I have a Barry Manilow blog that I update on a daily basis._

Or...

_I'm completely incapable of being in a relationship._

"So, shall we order?" Ethan says.

"Sure," Will says. He takes out his reading glasses and slips the frames onto his face to read the appetizers. From his peripheral vision he sees Ethan observing him idly. "What?" he smiles wryly.

"You wear glasses," he states simply.

"Sometimes," Will says, suddenly feeling self conscious. 

Ethan exhales in what sounds like relief. "So do I," he confesses, taking his own glasses out and putting them on. "I didn't want to break them out on the first date. But god, I feel better already." 

Will laughs. "I'm glad."

* * *

 Grace curses angrily to herself, hitting several buttons on the remote in annoyance.  

"Damn you, Netflix," she hisses. "I watch one episode of _Fuller House_ and it's stuck on my 'continue watching' list forever. I'm gonna write an angry email." She fumes. "...I'm gonna get Will to write an angry email." 

As she talks to herself, the door closes and Will walks in, heading straight to the refrigerator for the wine.

"Oh - oh, Will, how was your date?" Grace says, throwing the remote aside and moving up, patting the loveseat excitedly. Will waits until he's poured a full glass of wine before trudging over to her and sinking onto the chair slowly. Grace waits, her eyes following him.

"Is there something wrong with me?" he finally says, before taking a sip of wine.

Grace shuts her eyes. "Oh, Will. You couldn't get it up? Don't worry, that's totally normal for guys your age-"

" _No_ , Grace," Will hisses. "I mean -" He takes another sip of wine before setting it aside rigidly. "Did you mean what you said? About me being unromantic?"

Grace looks at him blankly. "Huh?"

"Remember? Like, a couple of months back you told me that I have no romantic drive, and that I have a _layer of ice encrusting my heart_ and that I was _born bitter_..."

"Wow. That really stuck with you, huh?" Grace says, noticing Will is genuinely agitated over it. She frowns. "You know I meant it as a compliment, right?"

"Right. But you meant it."

"...Yes."

"So you think it's true. That I'm dead on the inside and all my relationships are doomed to fail."

"Okay, now you're just putting words in my mouth. What the hell happened on this date, Will? With..." she trails off. "Gym guy?"

Will stifles a harsh laughter. "Oh, he was cute. Charming. Dorky. Said all the right things. And, most importantly, he liked me."

"Great! So what's the problem?" Grace says.

Will picks up his wine and swirls it theatrically. "I don't know," he says. "I guess there was something missing."

"Something?"

"Yeah. Just...something. I needed a little something more."

"Will, it's just one date. You need to give it time, let it grow a little. What's that analogy you always use, uh, bean-in-a-cup?" she recalls.

"Sure," Will says sardonically. "But have you ever met someone and instantly known - _instantly_ known that it was could turn into something?" he says. "Like, you can just _feel_ it, kinda like the way you know it's going to rain?"

"Yes," Grace admits. 

"Well, that's what I wanted." Will finally turns to look at Grace. "Is that something a cold-hearted misanthrope would say?"

"No. No, I guess not." Grace takes hold of his hand. "And I was wrong. Of _course_ you're a romantic, Will. I just...always figured you knew when to turn it off. Like a switch, you just...I don't know, compartmentalize."

"Well, I can't," Will says. "I think once you experience something _real_ , and _right_...everything after that just sort of becomes...arbitrary. Like, you could take it or leave it."

"Uh-huh."

"Like...bland food, or something."

"So, you're saying Gym Guy was like the Olive Garden?" Grace says.

Will laughs. "Yeah. He was the Olive Garden," he confirms. "Which is a shame, because he really was a solid nine."

"Well," Grace squeezes his hand. "You're a perfect ten, Will Truman, and you deserve another ten. And one day we'll find him for you."

"That's sweet."

"But right now, we're going to do what we usually do and watch Netflix," she says ceremoniously, picking the remote back up.

"Okay. What's the selection tonight?" Will says, sitting back and relaxing.

"Well, the remote is broken, so it looks like our only option is _Fuller House_."

Will blinks, then shrugs. "Eh, why not. I don't mind looking at John Stamos for a couple hours."

As the show starts, Will stares straight ahead, looking but not really watching, and lets his head lull against the cushions.

"Y'know," Grace says idly, after some time. "I have a theory."

"That this show is going to end up with twenty-eight seasons and a movie franchise no-one asked for?"

"About your dating life," she says.

"Go on, hit me," he sighs. 

"Maybe the reason why you can't form a connection with guys," she says slowly. "...is because there's something blocking you."

"Let me guess, it's my co-dependent relationship with you?" Will says, bored.

"No, idiot. It's because you haven't had any closure with Vince."

Will doesn't respond, instead grabbing for his wine.

"I got closure with Leo," she goes on, "and now I feel like I can finally date."

"It's different with you and Leo," Will says, still staring at the screen. "You tried for months to fix your marriage through therapy and...and _golfing_. And then you mutually broke up. Vince broke up with  _me_."

Will hates to admit that he got dumped, but whoomp, there it is. He can't exactly ignore it.

"Well, all the more reason why you should talk to him," she says. "Go ahead. Call him. You'll feel better after, I promise."

Will finishes his wine and sighs. "Okay. I'll think about it," he lies.

Call Vince? He thinks obstinately. No way. He left first, and so he'd have to call first. Will isn't going to lose his last shred of dignity by chasing his ex around like a desperate puppy, and he certainly wasn't going to stalk him on social media.

(As much as he wanted to.)  


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this took two months to update (sorry 'bout it). Ever since 9.10 I've been at a loss as to what to do with these idiots. From here on out I'll be claiming canon divergence from that episode onward. If you're still here, thanks for sticking with me thus far.

**2011**

“Hey, have you noticed that every movie is a sequel these days?” Grace muses between mouthfuls of noodles, as she flips through her magazine. “You know. _Cars 2. Kung Fu Panda 2. The Hangover Part Two. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2…_ ”

“Uh-huh.”

“You know what _should_ get a sequel?” she goes on. “An actual good movie. Like...I don’t know. _Ratatouille_ . Or _Thelma and Louise_.”

Will furrows his brow at her. “How did you get from _Ratatouille_ to _Thelma and Louise_?”

Grace shrugs, slurping an entire noodle in one swift motion and splashing Will with soy sauce.

Will grabs his napkin and wipes it off, rolling his eyes. “Besides, they couldn’t make a sequel to _Thelma and Louise_. Both women died at the end of the movie.”

“Did not,” Grace argued, tipping the paper box languidly and drinking the residual sauce.

“Grace, they drove off a _cliff_ ,”

“Yeah, but they never physically _died_. For all we know, the car could’ve...sprouted wings and flown off. And landed in Hawaii somewhere, where they settled down and lived the rest of their lives in a close, lesbian-coded relationship.”

Will blinks. “A flying car?”

“Hey, it happened at the end of _Grease_ , no reason it couldn’t have happened at the end of _Thelma and_ _Louise_. Oh, there’s another movie that should get a sequel. _Grease_.”

“It did, and it bombed.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Exactly.”

Eating boxed Chinese food after-hours with Grace while criss-cross applesauce on his desk makes Will feel like he’s in his twenties again. Apt, since he’d just celebrated his forty-fifth birthday a month ago. Grace, in general, makes him feel young, or that he’s allowed to feel young. No amount of backaches or visits to the optometrist could change that.

“Anyway, let’s talk about something that really matters,” Grace says. “It’s been, what time is it? _Eight months_ since same-sex marriage was legalized in New York and I still don’t see a rock on your finger. What’s the hold up?”

Will balks a little, uncomfortable all of a sudden. “...I just don’t think there’s any need to rush things.”

Grace scoffs. “Rush things? Will, come on. You and Vince have been together for nearly five years now. And your chance is _right there_ \- to be husbands, not this civil union crap that you people have been settling on for so long. Come _on_ , Will, I wanna get married again,” she nags, nudging him playfully. “Vicariously, that is.”

Will throws his hands up defensively. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s not up to me.”

Grace blinks, studying him. “Has he asked you?”

“...No,” Will says sullenly.

“Have you asked _him_?”

“I’ve…” Will folds his arms over his chests and diverts his eyes, staring instead at the carpet. “...broached the subject. You know. Subtly.”

“So you’ve left copies of bridal magazines around the apartment?” Grace says. “Nice. That’s what I did.”

Will stifles a laugh. “I don’t know, I guess it’s not something that’s on his mind.”

“Of course it’s on his mind. He’d be crazy to not want to put a ring on it,” Grace says matter-of-factly. “You’re a catch.”

Will hums, unconvinced. “Well, I think _something’s_ on his mind, at least. He’s been kinda quiet lately.”  

“Well, that’s it! He’s clearly planning a big proposal. God, I hope he gets me in on it. I need to figure out what to wear and what-”

“Hey, hey, slow down, Bridezilla, this is _my_ imaginary wedding, not yours,” Will chides. “Besides, I don’t think he’s proposing. Thing between us have been...lukewarm.”

“Lukewarm? What, like in the bedroom?”

“In every room.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s just a dry spell. It’s just...probably not a good time to get engaged. Maybe next year.” Will unfastens the top button on his shirt and loosens his tie, feeling a little stifled in spite of the chill of late fall.

Grace frowns at him, then shakes her head. “Nu-uh. I won’t accept that.”

“What?” Will laughs incredulously.

“Look, I can accept that me and Leo go through dry spells sometimes. That’s part of being a straight couple. But you?” she barks a laugh. “You’re _gay_. And gay? Means happy.” She pulls her cellphone out of her pocket. “I am going to pull you two right out of this rut.”

“What are you doing?”

“Making dinner reservations for two at Jean-Georges. You know, that fancy French place where Ellen gave birth to her, like, nine billionth kid?”

“Grace…”

“You,” she says firmly, making swift finger movements on her app, “are going to take Vince on a romantic date. Spend every dime in your pocket, I _know_ you’ve been miser-ing, you miser.”

“Not a word.”

“Then you’re going to take him down the promenade, or to a movie, or, I don’t know, a stamp museum, whatever gets your juices flowing...and you are going to _save_ this relationship, get engaged, have the biggest, gayest wedding there ever was, and I’m going to be the prettiest girl there which is totally allowed since you know, there’s no bride.”

“My relationship doesn’t need _saving_ , Grace.” Will tries to grab the phone from her. She holds it from his grasp, hitting the ‘confirm’ button before he can get to it.

“Come on, Will. You _had_ to know I was going to meddle.”

Will sulks. “Is this the kind of thing you do with Leo?”

“Me? God, no. I’m a girl. I’m a pretty girl. I make him do all the the gestures.”

“I’m pretty,” Will argues lightheartedly. “Some people think I’m prettier than you.”

“Oh, you do _not_ wanna go there, babe.”

* * *

 

While shaving that evening to the tune of low-volume disco music, Will leans in and studies his reflection; then scrutinizes it, switching off his razor and pokes at his face, frowning at every faint wrinkle and gray hair. He’s not getting any younger, he thinks. Here he is, at no less than forty-five, and he realizes, yes, he wants that ring on his finger. Blame it on his traditionalist roots, his yearning for a sense of security, his general neediness...whatever the reason, he wants to get married. _Face it, Will_ , he tells himself, frowning, _You might be a sellout lawyer at a corrupt firm but you want the fairytale ending. Besides,_ he thinks, more logically, _we’ve been fighting for our marriage rights for nearly half a century. We’d be idiots not to take advantage of the law changes this year._

He sighs, and turns on the faucet to splash some water on his face. Grace was right. He needed to figure out where his relationship was going.

He grabs a towel, drying off, then switches off the music.

Vince is in the nook going over some case files and watching television simultaneously. Will goes to sidle up next to him, his presence going entirely unnoticed.

“Hey, you,” he says, poking him gently.

“Hey,” Vince replies, without looking up.

“So, I made dinner reservations for two this Friday night,” Will says coyly, choosing to leave out any mention of Grace’s participation. “At Jean-George’s. Do you, uh…” He traces a teasing finger up Vince’s arm. “...know anyone who might wanna join me?”

Vince shrugs. “I dunno. Jack, maybe?”

Will laughs. “Uh huh. I had someone else in mind.”

“I can’t go,” Vince says. “I’m working late Friday night.”

Will blinks, affronted by the dismissal. “Can’t you...move some stuff around?”

“No, Will. It’s important that I be there.”

“Come on, Vince, your work is only important ten percent of the time. The rest of it is just...paperwork, and what, sitting around on desk duty playing Angry Birds?”

Vince finally looks up, offended.

“I didn’t realize you thought so little of my job,” he says flatly.

“Well, I didn't realize you thought so little of me,” Will hits back, folding his arms.

“Why would you think that?”

“I just thought it would be nice if we went out together for once,” Will says.  “On a date. Remember dates?”

“Yeah, I just think you should check in with me before making reservations like that.” Vince returns to his case work, visibly more agitated than before.

Will stands up, and heads over to the kitchen for no other reason than to find a barrier.

“...It wasn’t me,” he says finally, opening the fridge to grab some water.

“What was that?”

“I said, it wasn’t me who made the reservation. It was Grace. So if you want to blame anyone, blame her.”

“I’m not _blaming_ anyone, I’m - wait, why was Grace making reservations for us?”

“Because we’re weirdly codependent and involved in each other’s lives? Kinda thought you knew that by now,” Will half-jokes before taking a swig of water.

“Yeah, yeah, I read the terms and conditions,” Vince mutters. He considers for a while. “Maybe if you move it to Saturday?”

“I can’t. It’s my nephew’s birthday party.”

“Oh. Well maybe next-”

“Forget it, Vince,” Will says harshly. “It was a dumb idea.”

“It wasn’t a dumb idea, I want to go out with you. I’m just swamped. We’ll do a rain check, I promise,” Vince assures him.

Will leans against the counter wordlessly, wondering if he’d get the same rain check response if he asked Vince to marry him.

Or even a straight up “No”.

He feels a twist of anxiety. He looks down at his hands spread on the counter, his ringless finger, and thinks about how much more appeasing life would be if he just had that gold band.

Maybe Vince senses his dejectedness, because he sets aside his work and beckons him over.

“Come back here, Will,” he says. “They’re doing this challenge on Chopped where they have to make a dish out of nothing but raw eggs and Redvines.”

Will has to bite his lip to stop himself smiling.

“I know how much you love laughing at people’s culinary skills,” Vince goes on.

“Or lack thereof,” Will says, relenting as he goes back to join Vince on the couch.

As they watch, Vince snakes a hand around the back of Will’s neck and nestles his fingers in his hair, stroking absentmindedly. Will feels himself relax, sidling closer and sinking against Vince’s shoulder to give him better access.

Vince knows how to appease Will, can sense when he’s frustrated and high-strung, and knows exactly what remedy will calm him down. Sometimes it’s cooking, sometimes it’s ironing, but often it’s just the feeling of those fingers gently massaging his scalp. It’s a cheap shot; Will knows, but still an effective one. Maybe it’s being a hardworking, Type-A lawyer with a responsibility to support and take care of others that fuels his need to be taken care of every now and then, to feel like he doesn’t always have to be the rock.

He wants Vince to be his rock. He wants someone in his life that’s sturdy, unmoving and dependable, someone other than himself.

“Would you marry me?” he mumbles, so quietly he can barely hear himself.

“Huh?” Vince murmurs, his eyes fixed on the television, thumb still caressing his hair.  

“Nothing,” Will says loudly, chastising himself. “So, uh, who do you think has a shot? Chef Kinnally or Chef Janetti?”

“Kinnally for sure. Janetti just dropped one of his eggs and his mushrooms are undercooked.”

“Yeah, but Kinnally cut his thumb and just had to wipe blood off his own plate.”

“They are _both_ getting roasted at judge panel.”

They continue watching for a while, and Will feels his worries start to slowly ebb away. Grace might make him feel young, but Vince made him feel like it was okay to get old. That maybe that wasn’t so bad, because as long as they had each other, why concern oneself with superficial worries like the odd gray hair, or the occasional backache? With that one final pillar of security, he thinks, he could finally relax fully, just let himself be.

But he doesn’t want to be like every nagging girlfriend on _Say Yes to the Dress_. When Vince is ready, he’ll come around.

“What are you thinking?” Vince murmurs, seeing that Will is lost in thought.

“That you have the most magic fingers,” Will replies automatically.

Vince chuckles. “I hope that’s not the only thing about me that’s magic,” he says, stopping the stroking to rest his hand on the nape of Will’s neck.

“Oh, no, you’re just all-round enchanting,” Will mocks, splaying a hand on his chest and reaching up to give him a quick kiss. As his lips graze his partner’s, he grimaces and pulls back before Vince has a chance to reciprocate. “Vince. Ugh.”

“What?”

“Your beard is so scratchy.”

“I don’t _have_ a beard...”

“Well then why do I feel it?” Will reaches up to nurse the discomfort from the unpleasant scratchiness he’d encountered.

“Okay, well, maybe I missed a couple spots when I was shaving. I was in a rush. I’ll get to it later.”

Will shakes his head, laughing. “Okay, well, just let it be known that I’m not kissing you again until you do something about it.”

“Will, that’s not fair,” Vince says. “It grows really fast; it’s in my genes. I can’t be smooth all the time-”

“You can and you will. That beard is an infliction of bodily harm and I’m not going to suffer burns just because you’re too lazy to pick up the slack in the bathroom.”

Vince pulls back, affronted. “Okay. What if - what if I decided to actually grow it out completely? Are you saying I’d never get to kiss you again?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I wouldn’t touch you with a pole, Vince.”

“So...so what, you’re like, boycotting me?”

“Just until your next shave.” Will justifies diplomatically.

“You can be a real bitch sometimes, you know that,” Vince sulks. “You know, this is almost as bad as the time you threw out my running sneakers.”

“Oh, you’re still mad about that? They were falling apart at the seams,” Will sighs.

“They were my lucky sneakers.”

“Why, because you found a nickel on the sidewalk once when you were wearing them?”

“A quarter,” Vince corrects sullenly.

“Well, _forgive me_ for liking my men clean-shaven in nice shoes,” Will says, shaking his head. “You should be thanking me. You’d be lost without me.”

“Oh, is that right.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You know, I could always boycott you for something,” Vince says.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because I’m generous, and I don’t care about stuff like that,” Vince finishes. He stands up. “I’m going to bed.”

“You’re shaving first?” Will says hopefully.

“Nope.”

“...Vince, you’re killing me here.”

“Good,” comes the response, and Will scoffs, grabbing the remote and switching off the television.

* * *

As it turns out, Will has less patience than he’d liked to believe, and it only take a few days of not being engaged that places him firmly at the end of his tether.

“Well, would you look at that,” he says airily, slapping the newspaper down on the counter one morning. “Look at the wedding announcements. _Brad, 43_ and _Gene, 48_ just got married. Can you believe it?”

Vince furrows his brow as he looks down at the paper. “Do we know them?”

“Yeah, uh, you know Brad? Life and soul of the gay bar scene? God, to think he used to be into those _mesh shirts_ , and - and _leather pants_ , and _snorting narcotics off a stripper’s abs..._ and now he’s settling down, tying the knot…” Will goes on, mentally patting himself on the back for constructing an impromptu narrative for some guy named Brad he’d never met.

“Good for him,” Vince nods.

“It just warms my heart, you know? Not only do our people get to be legally married now, but it’s also a huge middle finger to the straight homophobic community. Because now we get to live traditional lives, too. No-one can call us _alternative_ or _different_ if we’re afforded the same rights.”

“Uh-huh,” Vince agrees monotonously.

“And uh, what’s the name of that celebrity gay couple that just got engaged?”

“Neil and David,” Vince says. “You’ve been on about them non-stop.”

“I mean, once famous people start doing it, we’ll be unstoppable. I don’t know, Vince, I think this the beginning of a new era. The pressure is mounting _really_ high.”

“Oh, it’s mounting, alright,” Vince mutters under his breath.

“Hey,” Will says approvingly, leaning to press an inspecting fingertip on Vince’s cheek. “You finally shaved.”

“Yeah, well. I did it for _me_ , not you. I liked to be groomed too. Just on my own terms.”

“Well, whatever reason, I’m glad. I finally get to kiss you again,” Will murmurs.

Vince ducks a little. “Don’t get presumptuous, Truman. Maybe I don’t wanna be kissed. Maybe I want you to get your mole removed first.”

Will draws back, dumbfounded. “Uh? My mole?”

“Yeah. Maybe it’s grossing me out. Maybe you should see a dermatologist before I touch you with a pole.”

Will rolls his eyes at Vince’s sulky justifications.  “Okay, okay, I kinda deserved that. But it’s not like my mole has ever given you skin rash.” He picks the newspaper back up and flips it open, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Besides, it’s a beauty spot. It’s an attractive feature,” he adds under his breath, letting his eyes scan the pages.

“Some guys think a little stubble is an attractive feature.”

“Not me,” Will laughs, wandering over to the table to pick up his coffee, eyes still trained on the paper. “Oh, god. Look at this. Lydia and Betty, married yesterday, both 96...I bet they’ve been waiting a long time.” He whistles.

“I’m not going to ask you,” Vince says suddenly.

Will blinks, and slowly turns to look at his boyfriend. “Sorry, what was that?”

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Vince bites his lip and diverts his gaze to the floor, clearly anguished. Will waits impatiently. He can’t help but notice his mouth has run slightly dry. Vince finally speaks.

“In case you were waiting for me to...to propose,” he struggles. “Which I think is what you’ve been getting at…” He finally lifts his gaze to meet Will’s. “For the sake of clarity, you should know. I wasn’t planning on it.”

Will blinks, unsure of what to decipher from the revelation. It’s not shocking - Will already knows he’s mentally further ahead in the marriage game than Vince is - but the bluntness makes him feel uncomfortable all the same.

He shifts a little. “That’s...that’s okay,” he replies, a voice smaller than he’d intended. “It’s okay, Vince, I don’t expect you to-”

“No, it’s not okay,,” Vince says in frustration.

“Yes, it is. Look, there’s no rush. We don’t _have_ to get married just because all the other gay couples are doing it, we can wait-”

“You don’t get it, Will,” Vince says, beginning to pace a little. He rubs the back of his neck nervously, and it’s clear to Will that he’s holding back. Will feels like he should probably be sitting down, but he’s transfixed, rooted to the spot as he waits for Vince to finish.

“Look, Will,” Vince says, stepping slightly closer. There’s still a solid distance of nine feet between them though; an invisible barricade that had appeared out of nowhere only seconds before.. “Marriage is a really big deal for me.”

“Yeah, it’s a big deal to me, too,” Will echoes.

“It’s kind of a - it’s kind of a forever thing,” Vince goes on.

“Yeah?” Will says.

“And I…” Vince is visibly pained in his confession, but Will keeps his eyes trained on him, determined to coax the truth out of him. “Well, I don’t know that I want that with you.”

Will feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He lets out a breathy exhale as if he had, and then swallows, a thick, uncomfortable gulp as he feels like his throat has shrunk three sizes.

Vince’s eyes widen, pangs of guilt immediately evident. “Wait. No. Will. That came out wrong.”

Will feels a little faint, and he manouvers himself into the nearest chair to collect himself. “No. No, it didn’t,” Will says. “There’s no other way to say it.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Will,” Vince says. “But lately I just...I’ve been feeling…”

“That you don’t want to marry me. No, it’s fine. I get it,” Will finishes for him. He realizes he needs a glass of water, but doesn’t want to stand up, feeling weakened by the sudden turn of events.

“I love you, Will,” Vince says.

Will blinks, staring straight down at his coffee and not knowing what to say. Normally he’d echo the statement; but now he’s aware that ‘ _I love you_ ’ is not a complete sentence. It’s an, “ _I love you, but..._ ”.

Instead, Will grasps at his coffee cup nervously and tries to assess the situation with his practical attorney-brain. “Did something change?” he asks, before picking up his mug to take a sip, grimacing as the lukewarm coffee passes his lips. “Did, uh...” He coughs.  “...did something happen?”

“No,” Vince says simply. “Not really.”

Will takes a quick glance at Vince, and his sorrowful brown eyes - of which are filled with an expression that look far too close to pity for his liking - and tenses up, feeling as though he’s on trial for a crime he had no idea he’d committed. “Are you sure, ‘cause I feel like we were fine up until now,” he presses quizzically.

“We _are_ fine,” Vince says, but it’s a lie and Will knows it.

“Have I been suffocating you with all this marriage talk? Because I can shut up. I swear, I won’t even read the marriage announcements anymore.” Will goes to flip over the newspaper dramatically. “See? Oh, look, sports! Let’s talk about basketball instead. The New York Giants beat the Miami Dolphins. That’s...great.”

“That’s football,” Vince corrects. “And you’re not suffocating me. We’ve just reached-”

“A dead end?” Will finishes.

“...An impasse, of sorts,” Vince says.

Will turns fully in his seat, looking Vince straight in the eyes for the first time since he’d dropped the bomb. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?” he says.

“...Yeah, I have." Vince admits.

“God, I feel like such an idiot,” Will mutters. “I’ve been thinking about getting married, you’ve been thinking about...well, the complete opposite." He furrows his brow as he realizes. "You’re right, we are at an impasse.”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t felt it,” Vince says, almost pleadingly. “Tell me I’m not alone in this, so I don’t feel like I’m going nuts.”

Will must be the biggest idiot on the planet, or at least he feels that way, because he’d been under the impression that things were fine. Not perfect, but fine.

“I guess I’m just some stupid WASP with denial for days,” Will admits out loud, “because I didn’t figure that at all.”

Vince goes to join Will at the table, slowly lowering himself into the seat beside him. He takes Will’s hand cautiously. His hands feel strangely colder, Will notes. It’s not until Will feels a soothing thumb brushing his skin that he realizes that he’s on a verge of tears; and that Vince had sensed it sooner than he did.

“Just be honest with me about something,” Will says, before sniffing. “...Do you want out of this relationship?” His voices raises an octave despite his effort to stay unabashed. Part of Will hopes that Vince would rush to deny it, and to assure him otherwise.

Instead, there’s silence.

“...I don’t know what I want,” Vince says finally.

Vince isn’t a decision maker, Will knows this. It can take him hours to pick out a weekend outfit, days to pick out a movie to see at the theater. Committing to a decision doesn’t come easy to him, and much like Will in some ways, he has a tendency to spin, get stressed out over silly issues. But Will always assumed - or at least guessed - that he was the one thing in Vince’s life that was an easy choice. That he was immune to Vince’s decidophobia.

But it’s abruptly become apparent that he wasn’t.

Will finally lets out an long exhale. “Thank you for being honest with me,” he says robotically. “I appreciate it.”

“Will…”

“Please, you don’t need to say anything else,” he says, standing up. “I, uh, need to get some groceries. I’ll be back in an hour.” He’s not sure why he said that - they’re nearly fully stocked up in food - but Vince doesn’t object, just nodding and giving him a small smile.

“Okay,” he says.

Will goes to grab his coat, feeling numb. Are they broken up? He doesn’t know. 

 _Maybe_ , he thinks, after he leaves the apartment, finally stepping out into the cold, crisp air, _maybe when I get back he’ll change his mind. Maybe he’ll apologize, tell me he still wants me, that he wants to marry me…_ As he descends the stoop, he finds himself automatically reaching for his phone, and calling the one person he needs.

“Grace?” he says shakily. “I need you. Can we meet up?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this is a BIG chapter by my standards (apologies for that.) Just want to point out that we have two W&G anniversaries - as of March 17th, it's officially 20 years since they shot the pilot, and as of March 18th, it's 14 years since Will and Vince met for the first time. An excellent time to update, no? Warning: a lot of alcohol in this chapter. Probably because I was drunk while writing it, but that’s neither here nor there.

**2012**

 “It’s finally happened,” Will slurs, slamming his empty cocktail glass onto Karen’s priceless antique coffee table, with no regards for the lack of coaster, “I’ve turned into my mother.”

Karen’s eyes follow him nonchalantly - seemingly the pinnacle of poise and sobriety, although who knows for sure at this point - and pats him sympathetically on the shoulder.

“How do you mean, honey?” she says sweetly. “Are you talking about your day drinking, or your new flair for lavender blouses?” 

"Karen, this _is_ a men's shirt. And it's not lavender, it's boysenberry!" he says stiffly. He's hit by a wave of drunken dizziness, and slowly slumps over and letting his head fall onto the woman’s lap, shutting his eyes. He feels the room spin.

“You know, this is fun,” Karen says. “You and me, a couple of single gals, getting together for a drink at the manse four times a week…”

“You’re not single. You have Stan,” Will murmurs against her pantsuit-clad thigh.

“Oh, him? I don’t think of him as a husband these days, really more of a live-in waste disposal, or a eight-hundred pound bed comforter." 

Will groans, once again wondering why he only has to drink half the amount Karen does to get three times as drunk.

“Say, honey, you look like you could use a pick-me-up…”

“ _Forget_ it, Karen, I’m not doing drugs with you. I’m still not entirely recovered from that quote unquote “aspirin” you gave me three years ago for a mild headache.”

“No, I mean I want to give you a little afternoon delight, Wilma!” she clarifies, bouncing up and down a little excitedly. “You know how they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone.”

Will sits up, alarmed. “Karen, I may be drunk out of my mind but I’m not having sex with you.”

“Not _me_. Lord, you should be so lucky. I mean one of my staff. Most of the help are gay.” She tilts her head in contemplation. “Or are they European? Eh, either way, I can get one of them to give you a little mangina. How about it, honey?”

Will shoots her an incredulous glare. “Okay, first of all, that is the worst word in the entire gay lexicon and I never want to hear it again. And second, I don’t want a meaningless hook-up. I’ve made it this far without rebounding and I’m not going to break now.”

“Suit yourself,” Karen shrugs. “But in case you change your mind, masseuse knows how to tell a story with a _very happy ending.”_ She pokes him suggestively.

Will shakes his head wordlessly. The mere idea of being with anyone but Vince seems weird to him. After five years of dating he’d become accustomed to him; molded to him like a perfectly-fitting pair of shoes he never expected to throw away. Being with someone new would be like...the equivalent of trying to walk in high-heel Louboutins.

"That is just about the gayest metaphor I've ever heard," Karen scoffs. "And I spent two summers with Liberace."

"Did I say that out loud?" Will murmurs.

"Honey, you're in bad shape. You know I love making fun of you, but you're so pathetic and dowey-eyed lately that it's getting a little too easy. I think even Smitty is in higher spirits than you." She pats him sympathetically. "Come on, let's get you into the limo. I can get driver to take you to one of those gay bars. I bet down at the Cockpit there's a whole subgroup of horny gays just waiting for a depressed, self-loathing elder gay to get their paws on. You know, before they take your wallet."

"Can you maybe get driver to take me home instead?" he says, sitting up. "I think I should be by myself for a while. Maybe make myself some soup and watch a Lifetime movie."

"Are you going to call me when you get home to let me know you're safe?" she says.

"Don't worry, I won't."

"That's what I like to hear. Now beat it." She smacks him playfully as he struggles to his feet.

* * *

When Will gets home later, he turns the key to his apartment to realize the door is already unlocked.

Alarmed, he freezes. Has there been a break in?

He quickly scopes the hallway looking for a potential weapon in case of a burglar, eyes only falling on a fire extinguisher. He shakes the thought out of his head, knowing he’s too inebriated from the alcohol to take on a potential intruder.  He instead listens, pressing his ear against the door. Whoever’s in his apartment is freely moving around, he can hear, and is shifting objects.

“Jack?” he calls nervously.

There’s silence, before footsteps. The door swings open, and Will immediately falters, feeling a combination of both surprise and relief.

“Vince,” he says, smiling breathily. “Sorry, I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Uh, yeah, I realized I forgot to move a couple of my things out,” Vince replies, looking just as taken back as Will is. “You gave me a key, so…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I remember,” Will nods.

Will and Vince had made an arrangement: whenever Will was out, Vince was free to move his stuff out of the apartment without having any awkward, post-breakup encounters with each other. Will had even drawn up (and laminated) a schedule and put it on the fridge.

It’s not fool-proof, however, because Will is thirty minutes early in getting home and, in his semi-drunken state, had completely forgotten his precious schedule. As his own idiocy dawns upon him, he almost wishes he could dive for the elevator and crawl back into Karen’s limousine that had just dropped him off.

“I’m sorry, I’ll just grab my stuff and get out of your hair,” Vince apologizes.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Will says hurriedly, “I’m the one who shouldn’t be here, I’ll leave-”

“C’mon, Will, I’m not kicking you out your apartment-”

There’s a minute of awkward back-and-forth of insisting before Will finally tries to compromise. “You know what? We’re both here, we may as well stay. I’ll help you.”

“Oh. Okay,” Vince says.

 

They’re in the bedroom, sitting on the floor and sorting through their DVD collection. It’s pretty easy - there’s a fairly solid divide between Vince's crime classics and Will's movie musicals and drama miniseries.

As he sorts, Will can’t help but look up at his ex every now and then, taking in his physique in covert glances. He looks good, Will notices -  hair more slicked back, form more robust, skin noticeably tan from his recent trip to Greece with Nadine (Will knows because he’s been subtly checking his Facebook pictures). The idea of Vince going anywhere without him is still strange to Will; as though he’s gone from a boyfriend to a stranger practically overnight.

Will wants to hate him.

Or at least bear a grudge for dumping him.

But for whatever reason, he can’t. Vince seems lighter, with a more relaxed demeanor. Maybe even happier, Will thinks.

 _God, was he really that miserable with me?_ Will thinks glumly, eyes following him as he sorts. As Vince reaches up to the shelf, Will’s eyes fall on that coveted vein on his left bicep; the one that used to drive him a little crazy. Still addled by martinis with Karen, Will stares brazenly, his mouth running dry.

“Huh. Look at this,” Vince says, cracking open a blank case and examining its contents. “Grace and Leo’s wedding video.”

“‘02, or ‘07?” Will laughs, coming back to earth.

“‘07. Do you want it, or...?”

Will shrugs. “I don’t even know why I have it. Well, I guess I could always keep it around in case they get divorced and she needs something to hate-watch." 

Vince chuckles, putting it back on the shelf. As his back is turned, Will resumes checking him out, relishing every slither of skin he can feast his eyes on and wondering what the hell was in that drink Karen served him to make him feel so lecherous.

Or maybe it’s that tight-fitting Henley with the sleeves rolled up, and those forearms, _god_ those forearms…

“What is it, Will? Do I have a booger or something?” Vince says, snapping him out of his reverie.

Will blinks, shaking his head. “Uh…?”

“You’ve been staring at me, like, non-stop. Remember, Will, I can always tell when you’re staring.”

“Oh.” Will blushes. “...those cop reflexes at work, I see.” His gaze drops shamefully to his hands, which are fidgeting. “I just...was meaning to ask you something.”

Not the most graceful improvise, but Vince seems to buy it.

“Shoot,” he says, settling down onto the floor so he’s level with Will. He looks at him expectantly as Will racks his brain.

“Do you, uh...do you want the crockpot? From the kitchen?” he manages.

Vince’s brows knit together, caught off guard by the unexpected question.

“I was just thinking,” Will adds hastily. “You work later nights than I do, so you might...want it. The crockpot, that is.”

Vince frowns. “I mean...I’ll take it if you dont want it.”

“Please, feel free to take anything you want,” Will says. “We bought a lot of this stuff together, and there’s way too much in this apartment for just one person anyway.”

“If you’re sure,” Vince says.

Will nods quickly. “Yeah. So just...take anything. Anything you want.”

Vince gives him a silent, skeptical once-over.

“So, just to be clear,” Vince says, sounding alarmingly wry all of a sudden, “you’ve been sitting there for the past half-hour agonizing over this crockpot situation?”

Will’s breath catches in his throat. “Uh, yeah,” he says nervously. “I mean, it’s a great crockpot. You know. Powder blue. Five different settings. The custody of the crockpot is a serious...” Vince throws Will an amused glance that almost stops him in his tracks. “...a serious dilemma.” Will finishes, trailing off slightly. He coughs.

“You wanna take it to court?” Vince says mockingly. “Fight for custodial crockpot rights, _Truman v. D’Angelo_?”

Will sinks his head into his hands, half-laughing and half-mentally slamming his head against the wall. “Okay, okay, you’re making fun of me. But you know I take my appliances really seriously.”

“I’ll take the crockpot,” Vince says. “You wanna keep pretending that that’s the only thing on your mind?”

Vince isn’t an idiot, Will keeps forgetting. Vince is a budding detective. He’s very shrewd when he wants to be, almost to a fault.

“So, uh...is this what if feels like being interrogated by a cop?” he jokes anxiously.

“Well, I could shine a lamp in your face,” Vince jokes. “But y’know, I’d like to think I wouldn’t have to resort to nefarious methods to coax a confession from you.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol that hasn’t quite left his brain, but it almost seems to Will like Vince is flirting. Their jovial back-and-forth seems to belie the fact that Vince had walked out on him two months before. _If I squint,_ Will thinks to himself, _it’s almost like we’re still dating._

“It’s stupid,” he says simply, hugging one knee and feeling much like a vulnerable teenager - rather than a flustered, slightly drunk man in his forties who had just been caught ogling his ex.

“Oh, so it is something?” Vince goads, with a self satisfied look.

“I was just thinking that…” Will sighs, knowing he’s got nothing to lose. Literally nothing. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you and...you look good.”

Vince blinks. “I look good?” he says, smiling a little.

“ _Really_ good,” Will emphasizes. “Like...unfairly good.”

He thinks about saying ‘happier’, but doesn’t want to subject himself to that level of overt self-loathing.  So, his ex is happier without him. So what? It’s not _his_ fault that Vince has commitment issues. They just... march to the beat of a different drum now. That’s what Will has been telling himself for the past two months, anyway.

Vince looks away bashfully and breaks into a rare smile, that full-teeth smile that makes Will’s heart beat a little faster.

“Thanks,” he says finally. “You, uh - you look good, too.”

“Ugh. You don’t need to-” Will says dismissively.

“I know. But you do,” Vince insists.

In truth, Will hasn’t been paying much attention to his own appearance lately. He’d perhaps missed a few shaves; and he hasn’t been to the salon for a haircut in a while. He probably looks unkempt, more unkempt than Vince, certainly. Be it winter depression, or post-breakup depression - it hasn’t exactly been mating season for Will, and his exterior probably reflected that.

Still, Vince still seems to be sincere, and Will accepts the compliment anyhow.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling tightly up at him.

There’s a beat of silence as the shift in atmosphere becomes mutually apparent - before, it had been laidback and vaguely flirtatious. Now, Will doesn’t know how to read the room. Whatever it is, he thinks, he needs a buffer.

He stands up shakily. “Do you, uh, want a drink?” he says.

Vince nods. “Sure. But, uh, I checked earlier. You’re all out of coffee.”

“Forget coffee. I’ll open some rosé.” 

Vince scoffs out a bemused laugh. “At four in the afternoon?” he says.

“Why not? It’s a weekend.” Will shrugs. He’s already tipsy from cocktails with Karen, so what’s a few drinks more? He gives Vince a questioning head tilt.

“Okay. You’re on, Truman,” Vince relents.

Will smiles and heads out into the kitchen to pour the wine. The logical part of his brain is screaming at him - _Are you seriously about to kick back and have drinks with the guy who broke your heart? The guy who left you, high and dry, not four weeks after you hit middle-age?, The guy who suddenly decided you’re not worth the commitment? This is a new low, Will Truman, even for you._

But a more primitive part of Will knows he isn’t ready to completely part with Vince. It’s one thing to break up. But to never see him again - so soon after Will was ready to get engaged - would be too much for him to handle.

 _It’s better to ease out of this relationship, while he’s still moving out,_ he argues to himself. _I’ll gradually see less and less of him until one day I’ll barely think of him at all. Until then, we may as well be mature and amiable._

He hums jauntily as he pours the wine.

 _Oh, get real,_ comes the original voice. _How do you expect to get over Vince when he’s in your bedroom wearing form-fitting shirts and you’re day-drinking and ogling him like a perverted old man? Have some shame and cut him loose._

It’s like there’s a courtroom case firing back and forth in his head - a full-blown filibuster. Will’s too far gone to listen to the more reasonable voice, and mentally hits the gavel as he scoops up the two glasses of wine and heads back to the bedroom.

“So, is this like a picnic?” Vince asks.

“Of sorts,” Will muses, handing him one glass and sitting beside him. They both relax against the foot of the bed as they sip.

“So…” Will says, trying to think of something to talk about. “...Greece?”

“Is totally overrated,” Vince finishes. “Cool history and everything but-”

“Didn’t live up to the _Mamma Mia_ hype?” Will says.

“...Yeah. And the food sorta looks like something you’d throw together if you had ten minutes to plan a dinner party.”

“Ah, typical Italian man. Completely ignorant to any cuisine other than his own,” Will teases. He pokes him as he takes a languid sip of his wine. “It gave you a sexy tan, though.”

“Yeah, that’s what Nadine said. Though she was trying to coax me into learning the ancient island dance.”

“Oh, my god. _Please_ tell me there’s video,” Will says.

“Are you kidding, there’s a whole Instagram account dedicated to that one trip.”

Will laughs, but feels a slight tug in his chest. The wine’s already going to his head, the bitter taste lingering in his mouth.

He clears his throat. “So, uh, you and Nadine. Seems like you two are working pretty well together,” he says airily.

“Yeah. She’s…” Vince considers. “She’s like my Grace.”

Will barks a laugh. “Wow. Don’t ever tell Grace her name has become synonymous with the word ‘hag’.” he says. “Someone called her that the other week, and I think they could hear her screaming _‘I’m married to a doctor!’_ all the way in Staten Island.”

They continue with their drinking and gossiping, and it almost begins to feel like they’re old friends. Three months parted with Vince and Will has already missed so much - a trip to the Mediterranean, his sister’s engagement to a cute nurse she’d met, a newly arrested drug lord...it’s becoming strangely apparent that Vince is already a fully realized person outside of his relationship with Will.

That there perhaps _isn’t_ a gaping, Will-shaped void in his life.

 _I’m not important to him anymore_ , Will realizes sadly. The strict, lawyer voice immediately comes back to haunt him.

_God, Will, I told you not to hang out with him. You should have kicked him out when you had the chance, his Godfather DVDs be damned…_

“You know, you never would have done this before,” Vince says, pulling Will out of his self-loathing thoughts.

“Huh?” Will says nervously, cupping the glass with both hands and drinking a little faster than he’d intended.

“You know. Hanging out. Drinking. On the floor,” Vince says, gesturing vaguely. “We never did stuff like this when we were living together.”

Will finishes his glass and turns to him indignantly.

“Okay, that’s _not_ true,” he says. “You say that like I’m such a square.”

“Well, you can kinda be-”

“Vincent D’Angelo,” he says, slurring just a little. “I’m not a square. I do things on the floor all the time.”

“...Oh really?”

“Yeah. I’m not a floor prude. I’m up for anything on the floor.”

Vince finishes his glass and gives Will a derisive, calculating look. “Okay,” he says slyly. “So, you up for a game? On the floor?”

Will’s pretty sure his mind has short-circuited at the suggestion, because he’s rendered speechless. Vince, before waiting for an answer, sets aside his glass and moves closer. Will’s eyes drift shut, and his mouth falls open instinctively.

There’s the sound of squeaking as the hamper lid is swung open. Will opens one eye.

“Oh, good. You still keep the Scrabble in here.” Vince says, pulling it out.

“...You want to play Scrabble?” Will is dumbfounded.

“Hey, you said you were up for anything.” Vince says as he sets up the board.

Will takes a moment to collect himself and then nods hasily. “No. Yeah. It’s just...it’s Scrabble. You have to know I’m going to kick your ass, though.” He tries to muster confidence in his speech but between the alcohol and his brief proximity to Vince, he’s not sure how many words he actually remembers.

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Vince replies nonchalantly, distributing the tiles. “One summer my brother accidentally shot out the fuse box and this game was all we had to entertain ourselves for _months_. I’m kind of an old hand.”

“Cute story, but I’ll have you know that _this_ game used to be my only friend,” Will challenges.

“...Weird brag, but let’s go.”

 

Another half-bottle of wine and a combined two hundred points later, they’re sprawled on the carpet fully immersed in their word battle.

“Vince, you can’t use the word ‘SCUBA’” Will complains.

“Why not? These are my only letters that make anything.”

“Have you even read the rules? It’s an acronym for Self Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus and acronyms aren’t allowed.” He smirks. “What, you think a few glasses of wine would make me forget that?”

Vince sulks. “Fine,” he says, swiping up one of his tiles. “You know I think I’m just going to pluralize one of your words and wipe that smug look right off your face.”

Will gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

Vince gives him a wicked look before sliding his ‘S’ at the end of Will’s ‘affidavit’ to make ‘affidavits’.

“That’s not fair, you didn’t even know that word before we started this game,” Will huffs.

“I’m sorry, Will, but your fancy-pants lawyer word is mine now,” Vince murmurs, counting up the score. “Oh, that’s forty nine points for me.”

“Wait. what?” Will protests. “You’re drunk, you must have counted it wrong.”

“You’re just bitter, Truman, because I’m winning now.”

Will fumes while scanning his letters. Clicking his tongue at his options, he quirks a smile. “I’ve got a good one,” he says slowly.

Carefully placing his tiles, he uses Vince’s ‘s’ to make ‘osculate’.

Vince reads it, frowning. “Wait, is that even a word?” he asks.

“ _You_ betcha,” Will says chipperly.

“Use it in a sentence,” Vince challenges.

Will hums, considering. “Okay. I want to _osculate_ George Clooney.”

Vince narrows his eyes doubtfully. “I dunno, that word still sounds fake to me.”

“Vince, I think I _know_ -”

“Try again,” Vince says.

Will falls silent, staring straight ahead at Vince, trying to figure out his angle. “...Fine,” he says, “I want to... _osculate_...Bradley Cooper.”

Vince hums, then shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. I’m not buying it, Will.”

There’s enough alcohol coursing through Will’s brain that he finally begins to understand the rules of this game they’re playing. He smiles wryly.

“What if I said...I want to _osculate_ you?” he says, his heart skipping a beat at his own admission. Vince simply smiles in response.

“Huh. I’d say I was convinced,” he replies.

Will laughs, half out of exhilaration and half out of genuine amusement. Their flirting is venturing dangerous territory, it seems, but Will’s not about to let that distract him. He leans forward to count up the scores, grinning to himself in satisfaction. “Ha! Fifty-five points. Looks like I’m ahead of you, sweetie.”

The pet name slips out by accident, and Will want to hit himself because it’s not one he’s ever used all that often anyway. Vince is undeterred, however, snatching up the scoreboard to skim the results.

“Actually, we’re at a... _tie_ ,” he says.

Will scoffs, annoyed that he can’t even get the upper hand in a stupid word game. “...I guess that makes us even.”

Will wonders if Vince has figured out what ‘osculate’ means, and by the mischievous gleam he receives, he infers that he’s got the gist of it.

“So, we’re at a deadlock here,” Vince murmurs. “Looks like we need a final round.”

“Do we need the board for it?” Will says boldly.

“Not really,” Vince says, and then, in one motion, slides the board aside haphazardly, tiles scattering. Will’s eyes widen, and normally he’d chastise Vince for messing up his precious words but something about the way Vince is looking at him assuages those thoughts completely. Will’s breath catches in his throat as Vince leans towards him, and it suddenly dawns on Will that they haven’t touched once today; haven’t touched in months, and maybe that’s what’s been fueling this cat-mouse game they’ve been playing all afternoon.

Or maybe it’s the alcohol. Will doesn’t really care.

His eyes drift shut again and this time, he’s rewarded with the feeling of lips brushing against his cheek and towards his ear. A shiver runs down his spine as he feels a hand slide up his leg to his squeeze his inner thigh.

“Hey, you up for another game on the floor?” Vince murmurs into his ear. Will is shocked by a confidence he hasn’t witnessed in Vince in years, and can only nod wordlessly in response.

He turns his head slightly so his lips can meet Vince’s, but Vince reaches up to hold his chin in place. “Say it, Will,” he whispers gruffly against his skin before Will has a chance to claim his prize.

Will is puzzled. Say what? That he won Scrabble? Will would gladly forfeit that to get a kiss from Vince, affidavits be damned.

He inhales sharply, and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Kiss me,” he says, and it comes out sounding far too much like a plea for his liking.

Vince smiles a little. “Don’t you mean _osculate?_ ” he mocks softly.

“I _knew_ you knew what it meant,” Will breathes, only slightly in annoyance, and then Vince kisses him finally, both hands snaking up to cradle his face firmly. Will gives up all pretense, all coyness, and melts into him, kissing back with an earnestness he hasn’t felt in a long time.

He whimpers slightly as Vince pulls back with a smack, still holding Will tightly. “I like you like this,” he murmurs.

“Like what?” Will says, dazed. Needy? Desperate? Starved for even the slightest of touch? Will can’t guess why he’s even remotely enticing to Vince in this moment but he doesn’t get an answer, just the other man’s lips surging back against his, hungrier this time. Will gasps into his mouth, pawing at him for leverage and pulling him closer. As they kiss, his hands fall on the other man’s biceps and, sweet lord, this man has definitely been to the gym since their breakup. Will takes this gratifying moment to allow himself to fully inhale the man in his arms, who he’s been granted full access to.

“God, you smell good,” he breathes dumbly against Vince’s lips. Despite their drunken, tangled up position, Vince preens a little.

“Cedarwood soap. Made it myself.”

“Suits you,” Will compliments.

“Thanks,” Vince says, genuinely touched, before pulling Will back against his lips again.

As they explore each other clumsily, kissing with messy zealousness and hands roaming - just feeling each other, with no clear destination - Will grows agitated with their sitting position. He needs to feel the weight of Vince on him.

Without breaking away, he grabs at the other man’s shirt and begins to pull him desperately on top of him, and Vince gets the message immediately, following suit. Will lets his back hit the floor harshly, and grimaces as he comes into contact with plastic digging into his back.

Vince pulls back from his lips, concerned. “You okay?” he mutters from above him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Will laughs, reaching underneath him to move the offending Scrabble tiles. “Minor obstruction.”

“Ah.” Vince leans back down to kiss him again, both drunkenly smiling into it. He’s flush against Will now; one hand clutching the underside of his thigh, and if Will's attraction wasn’t apparent before, it certainly was now. Will lets his hands greedily run down Vince’s back, reveling in the feeling of his shoulder blades, those back muscles contracting under his shirt. He wants to stay like this forever; pinned to the uncomfortable floor with one lazy leg wrapped around Vince, just kissing and feeling with listless abandon.

Vince has other ideas, though, Will can tell by the impatient roughness of his touch and the harsh lips moving to his neck.

“ _Vince_ ,” Will gasps - the only word he knows at this point - and surrenders to the feeling of those teeth nipping the area just below his ear. He closes his eyes and lets Vince’s multitasking fingers unbutton his shirt, thumbs sliding with a deft expertise that would make Will forget how to breathe if he hadn’t already.

The cool air comes into contact with Will’s exposed chest, the discomfort pulling him slightly back to reality. He’s mad at himself for being seduced so easily - finding himself flat on his back on his bedroom floor, drunkenly disheveled in a state of undress isn’t how he planned to spend the evening - but then Vince’s lips are kissing down his neck to his collarbone, then his chest and Will remembers he hasn’t waxed in a while. He wonders if Vince cares, or even notices, but as those belligerent hands begin to make a grab for Will’s belt, Will realizes that Vince doesn't care about much of anything in this moment.

“Vince. Vince,” Will manages, sitting up putting his hands on Vince’s to stop him. Vince looks up, perplexed. “I want...I want to see you first.”

“Oh. Okay.” Vince seems to understand, and reaches back to peel his own shirt over his head in one swift motion. Will watches intently and feasts his eyes on the thick, toned body he hadn’t seen in months, and good god, Will thinks, if he’d known when waking up this morning that he was going to get _this_ lucky, he would've prepared himself in the salon for a day of beauty rather than wallowing in drinks with Karen. But here he is, anyway, and he’s not going to let this opportunity go to waste because in this moment, he needs to feel that skin against his own.

“The Mediterranean has been good to you,” he breathes, relieved that now he gets to ogle as much he wants. Vince smirks, balling his shirt up and throwing it aside.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m kinda tired of this floor.”

Will nods. “Sure,” he says, knowing he’d want to kiss Vince anywhere.

“Bed?” Vince asks.

The suggestion gives Will pause. The bed makes it much realer, he notes - it’s the same bed they’ve slept in together hundreds of times before, a bed they’ve had several sessions of pillow talk, of bickering, of talking about their respective days. And all of a sudden it hits Will like a freight train. The possibility that maybe Vince wants all that back.

Feeling a dash of hope, he struggles to his feet and goes to sit on the bed, the lucidity of his situation beginning to set in. He hasn’t felt this raw, this vulnerable, in a while, and he knows he must look it - shirt crumpled, hair mussed, face flushed with light exhilaration. Vince seems to enjoy the sight, immediately dipping the cup the other man's face in his hands and promptly claiming his lips. Will feels those hands drift down to tug the rest shirt off his back, and he enthusiastically shrugs out of it and lets it be thrown to the floor.

"C'mere," he whispers into Vince's mouth, though the other man doesn't need much coaxing. As Vince covers Will and begins to kiss him again - Will inwardly sighing at the feeling of skin-on-skin now that both of their pesky shirts are gone - he takes note of how easily and naturally their lips slide together, as autonomous as breathing. He lets his hands grasp gently at Vince's torso as he kisses, feeling every familiar dip and curve of his muscles. Vince is more liberal in his exploration, gripping harshly at his thigh and hoisting a leg to his hip, desperate to achieve some friction. Wanting and pliant, Will gasps and moves one hand to the nape of the other man's neck, letting himself be taken apart. Vince is bigger, taller, stronger than he is, and Will loves when he's reminded of it so overtly. 

"Vince," he whispers into his mouth feeling his hips buck up automatically. " _God_ , I need you."  He's embarrassed at himself for stooping to a limited, cliche vocabulary that would barely win him five Scrabble points but Vince seems self-satisfied with the admission, smiling against his lips.

"Do you have anything with you?" he murmurs, gesturing with a slight head tilt to the the night stand that used to belong to him a few months prior.

"Um, no," Will says, embarrassed. "I mean I didn't-"

"Mm. No. That's okay, we can improvise," Vince hushes him, with another quick kiss. The sudden tenderness of his touch has Will in a new kind of daze - there's a gentle domesticity that has him only further speculating that Vince is as good as his again. He begins to wonder if these past three months have just been a break Vince had so sorely needed. Maybe he just needed some space, some time to figure out himself outside of his relationship, and now he's coming back. 

This realization prompts a surge of adrenaline, a feeling of possessiveness that makes Will grab Vince by the shoulders and, in one quick motion, flip them over so that he's on top. Back hitting the mattress, Vince laughs in surprise but accepts their new position eagerly. Will feels triumphant, finally having this man underneath him again in his bed. He makes sure his next kiss is slower, more tantalizing, before he pulls back and whispers, "I need to ask you something."

Vince blinks, clearly not expecting a question, but shrugs. "Sure, what's up?"

"Has there...been anyone else?" Will asks. "Since me?"

Vince stares up at Will, eyes clearly searching for meaning in his question, before diverting his glance. "Uh..." he says, rubbing a self-conscious hand on his back. "...One."

Will nods, trying to conceal his immediate jealousy at the idea of another man being with Vince after five years of him being only his, exclusively his. He leans down to begin peppering kisses along Vince's jaw to hide any trace of disgruntlement at the confession.

"What about you?" Vince asks. Will nuzzles at his neck, continuing to trace languid kisses and focusing on that one familiar protruding vein rather than Vince's echoed question.

Will wonders if he's just asking as a mirrored response or out of genuine curiosity. Either way, Will sees no point in lying.

Finally, he lifts his head and shakes it. "No-one," he admits. "It's been kind of a dry spell."

Will doesn't reveal the whole truth, however: that his bedroom being a No-Man's Land really has nothing to do with a decreased libido, or trouble getting dates. In short, it was because he knew that the second he was with someone else - be it physically or emotionally- that was when it was truly over between him and Vince. And he wasn't quite ready to let go of that. 

There's a shift in balance in the room; now that it's become mutually apparent that Vince has been with someone and Will hasn't. Will wants to lose himself in Vince's lips again, but those lips feel just a bit more foreign to him now. Vince can sense Will's hesitation, and goes to stroke his cheek tenderly.

"Are you mad?" he asks, tracing a thumb against his skin.

Will scoffs at the obtuse question. "How could I be mad? You're a - a free man. You can see anyone you want. It's not up to me."

"It didn't mean anything," Vince insists. "It was really more of like, a rebound thing. I'm not proud of it."

"Vince, you don't need to explain," Will hushes him, but lets his ears perk up at the mention of a rebound. If Vince had to rebound from Will, maybe there's still residual feelings there. Will wants to ask - the question's burning his lips - but instead he ducks his head and pours all his feelings into another claiming kiss, holding him tighter. He wants to make Vince feel what he feels - longing, bitterness, regret - and when the other man moans slightly in response Will wonders what he's feeling.

"Stay," Will murmurs into his mouth.

"Huh?" Vince mumbles back, separating their lips with a soft smack and turning his head a little.

"I know...I know you said you didn't know what you wanted," Will says, feeling more bold now that he has Vince underneath him, lips parted and eyes glazed. "...and I'm not asking you to move back in, or even to be with me again but...Vince, _c'mon,_ you can't say that you feel nothing..."

Vince stiffens, and diverts his eye contact completely. Will can tell by the way his muscles tense up in his arms that he's made a misstep.

"...Will, I never said I felt _nothing_ ," Vince says eventually, sitting up slightly. Will climbs out of his way, flushing with embarrassment of the clear rejection. Vince pinches the bridge of his nose. Despite their mutual dishevelment and their wine-stained lips, there's a stone-cold sobriety present that has brought this evening to a grinding halt. "...I didn't mean to lead you on," Vince finally finishes. "I didn't want to give you the impression that this..."

"That this means anything. Gotcha." Will goes to stand up, feeling dizzy but determined to be as obstinate as possible. He looks around for his shirt and _dammit_ , where did it go?

"Look, of _course_ it means something but, Will, we're in a complicated area..." Vince tries. 

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed," Will quips sarcastically, jerking open the bureau to get a new shirt instead. He pulls it over his head quickly, having no desire to be physically vulnerable when his emotional vulnerability had just gotten a firm decline. 

"Will, I'm sorry-"

"No, Vince. _I'm_ sorry. Sorry for having feelings and--and emotions and-"

"Will, come on. You- you invite me into your room, you give me wine, you _stare_ at me for hours, and you flirt with me, and what was I supposed to do?" Vince cries, having reached the end of his own tether. "Do I accept responsibility for that, yeah, but Will, can't we be just adults about this?"

Will freezes, Vince's words ringing in his head. He shuts his eyes and turns to face his ex once again. The pleasant buzz from before had worn off slightly and now left him with a nauseous, pathetic feeling he didn't like at all. 

"Tell me, Vince," he says slowly. "What...what am I to you?"

Vince looks back at him, emanating pure sorrow, and then sighs.  "You mean a lot to me, Will," he says. "I just...I just can't be with you anymore."

Three months before, when Vince had delivered that same blow, it had felt like a punch to the gut. Now, it's just a strange, numb feeling that stirs inside him, like a hollow pit. 

"And I'm sorry for letting things get out of hand," Vince goes on solemnly. "I only came here to get my DVDs, I swear."

There's a beat of silence, before Will finds himself stifling a laugh. "Yeah...yeah, I know." He deflates, sinking back into a sitting position on the bed and covering his face with his hands. "I'm sorry, too. I think...I think Karen slipped me something this afternoon that might have sent me into full-blown aphrodisiac mode."

"Oh. Well, why didn't you say so sooner? We could have chalked this whole thing up to Karen and called it a day," Vince jokes. He pauses. "Sorry. Uh, bad joke."

Will laughs sardonically anyway, and purses his lips. "For the record, it's not that I'm totally incapable of meaningless hookups. Just...not with you."

"No, no, I get that," Vince murmurs.

As he stands up to go grab his shirt from the floor, Will watches from his peripheral vision and inwardly implores that Vince say something, _anything_ , to make their current dynamic a little less unbalanced. To wear his heart on his sleeve like that and get nothing in return is borderline traumatic for him.

After Vince dresses again, he lingers in the middle of the room, and looks back the other man who's sitting nervously on edge of the bed. "Will, I..." Vince starts.

"Uh-huh?" Will listens intently.

"Should I...clean up this Scrabble?" he says awkwardly. 

Will gives him a small smile. "No, leave it to me. Just..."

"Yeah. Okay. I'll just..."

"Yeah. Sure."

Their awkward half-sentences hang in the air. All the while, Will is hating himself. How could he have been so stupid as to delude himself like that? That twelve consecutive weeks of heartache could be remedied by one drunken tryst over a game of Scrabble. _He didn't kiss me because he still loves me,_ Will realizes. _He did it because I'm familiar. Because we fell back into old patterns._

It happens with tons of exes, and he was no exception.

"So, uh...I'll call you," Vince says, one hand on the door.

Without looking up, Will scoffs. "What does that even mean in this context?"

Vince stares blankly. "I don't know." 

He stands there for a while, clearly agonizing over _something_ , Will thinks - _please, dear god, don't let it be pity -_ and finally sighs. "You know what, Will? Come here."

Will gives him a quizzical look, but stands up and goes to join him by the door anyway, too emotionally compromised to put up any defense. Vince reaches across and takes Will's hand, squeezing it.

"Look, Will, I really don't want you to hate me," he says solemnly. 

"I don't hate you," Will says flatly, and even he knows he's not being convincing. 

"I just think that you and I could be really good friends, and I don't want to screw that up."

"Uh-huh," Will says automatically, nodding.

"These past few months have been...important for me. And I think if you just put yourself out there, give yourself some new experiences, then you could be happy too."

Will feels a lump forming in his throat, but he nods again. So, he thinks,  Vince can tell he's unhappy. Or at least, unhappier than Vince, which is still embarrassing in its own right. 

"Tell me we're gonna be okay?" Vince says.

Will lifts his gaze to meet Vince's and sees a genuinely pleading look, a look that tells him that Will's more than just an easy hook-up to him. That he actually _wants_ to be friends. Will had figured that the "let's stay friends" cliche was just a line, but one look tells him that he means it. _Are they going to be okay?_ , he'd asked. What's the dictionary definition of "okay"? Satisfactory, but not good? Adequate? Under control?

If that's what Vince wants, he'll give it to him. 

Will forces a smile. "...Yeah. We'll be okay."

Vince is visibly relieved. "C'mere," he whispers, and Will steps forward to allow himself to be enveloped in a hug. He clings to the other man, swaying slightly, and buries his face in his shoulder letting himself be squeezed. _Vince may have commitment issues,_ he thinks, _but he's still a damn good hugger._

When he pulls back, he immediately bends to pick up the box of DVDs at his feet. "Don't forget these," he says.

"Thanks." Vince takes the box. "...Well, I'll see you, Will."

"I'll see you," Will echoes, and as Vince leaves, Will looks up and notices that his hair is still mussed from their earlier tryst. Allowing himself that one last shred of satisfaction, he smiles a little and shuts the door.

* * *

 "Okay, seriously, you're _insane_ if you think Chris Evans is hotter than Chris Hemsworth. I mean, sure, he has that insane triangle physique going on, but nothing beats that raw, earthy sun-tanned godlike Michelangelo. Also he has an accent, so." 

"Grace, Grace, Grace, it is _shameful_ that there are so many heterosexuals like yourself that fail to look past the exterior and look deep into the psyche that is so imperative to the equation. Evans is, like, the _pinnacle_ of gay men. He's evolved, he's versatile, he has more than one haircut, and he has maintained the same shoulder to waist ratio ever since the 2001 seminal classic,  _Not Another Teen Movie -_ and have you seen that _be_ -hind in spandex?"

"Chris Evans isn't gay, Jack."

"Uh, who here has the gaydar? Me or you? He's a Kinsey 4. Hemsworth is only a 2."

Will exits the bathroom to observe his two friends wrapped up on the couch engaged in rigorous debate.

"Isn't it a little early in the morning to be thirsting over movie stars?" he says, pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

"We're doing brunch," Jack announces. "We've got morning beverages, courtesy of Cafe Jacques, catered by Karen Walker." Jack and Grace clink glasses and they both take languid sips of their mimosas.

"You're drinking? At ten in the morning?" Will says, trying to collect as much authority in his tone as possible to conceal the fact he'd been day-drinking just the day before.

"Welcome to brunch!" Grace laughs. "Oh, come off your judgement, Will. You're a WASP, you probably came downstairs to your drunk mother every weekday morning."

"...Thanks for the reminder," Will says.

"Anyway, it doesn't count as alcohol," Grace says matter-of-factly. "Because  _I_  am drinking it through a silly straw." She slurps demonstratively, and then lets out a long, drawn-out burp.

Will shakes his head. "You know, Grace, when you got married, I thought to myself - Wow. I'm losing the Grace I know, she's marrying a doctor, and going to become all _mature_ and _responsible_ and I'm never going to see her again. But no, here you are, in my apartment every morning, belching and talking about superheros asses in spandex." 

"Oh, shut up, you know you love me," Grace hits back. "Anyway, thank god you're here. Settle this debate - Evans or Hemsworth?" 

"I pick neither. I'm not into blond guys," Will says. "I like my men a little more...exotic, and rugged."

"Rugged!" Grace yells. "That means Hemsworth, he's team Hemsworth, I win!" She punches the air drunkenly, almost spilling mimosa on herself. 

"If I had to pick a superhero, I'd go Wolverine," Will muses. 

" _Kinky_ , I like it," Jack approves. "Livin' on the edge, I see, Truman."

"Speakin' of living on the edge, who'd you get lucky with last night?" Grace interjects, raising one mock-flirtatious eyebrow at Wil.

Will's eyes widen, and he almost splutters into his coffee. "Uh - what?"

" _Please_ , Grace. Will hasn't gotten laid. He hasn't even left his apartment in three months. No need to rub it in," Jack says, circling an idle straw in his drink. "That's my thing." 

"I dunno," Grace says wryly. "I think I spy a hickey on Will's neck..."

Will slams a hand over his neck, flushing beet red. "No, I don't. I don't have a hickey, I just have a - a skin rash. Allergies," he says hastily.

Jack turns to scrutinize Will, interested. "Oh, my god. You _did_ get laid. Tell all!" he says, setting his drink aside and putting his chin in his hands. "You haven't left the building except for food, so I'm guessing it was..." he gasps. "Oh my god, Will, _the hot dog vendor guy_?" He squeals in excitement. "Did he show you _his_ hot dog, if you get my drift?"

"Gross! The guy with three teeth? No!" Will says, disgusted.

"Ooh, I know. The plumber was here yesterday. Maybe it was him?" Grace suggests. "Did he, uh, adjust  _your_ pipe, Will?"

"Guys, stop! stop! I didn't get laid yesterday, so stop speculating." Will goes to grab his hand mirror to observe the damage.

"Will, I know a hickey when I see one, _mmm_ kay? I've gotten them. I've dealt them. I've majored in them. And that? Is a hickey, my friend." Jack states plainly.

Will deflates. "Fine. Fine. I kissed someone. But it was _just_ kissing. And no - it was not the plumber or the hot dog vendor."

"Well that only leaves..." Grace trails off, before gasping. "Will! You _didn't_!" 

"Don't judge me, Grace-"

"Mr _Zamir_?"

"W-What, no I didn't kiss Mr. _Zamir_! How many mimosas have you had?" Will cries. "It was Vince, okay. I kissed Vince."

Grace and Jack fall silent, sharing a grimacing glance. 

"He showed up here to get his stuff and I - being the _idiot_ that I am - pretty much pounced on him. So there, that's the story." Will waits to gauge their reaction.

"...Well, it seems to me like it was pretty mutual," Grace says slowly. "I mean, look at you. You look like a relief map of Brazil."

"It is not _that_ bad," Will snaps. "And besides, we both decided to put the situation behind us, so can we please keep the jokes to a minimum?"

Jack nods respectfully. "Ah, the coveted ex-sex. 'Tis a divine experience, of reuniting and rediscovering, worthy of a Celine Dion ballad...that is, until, they start snoring and hogging the sheets and reminding you why you dumped them in the first place."

Grace pouts. "God, your lives are so _gay_ and _exciting_. I'm just a boring straight person with a boring straight husband." She clutches at her empty glass dramatically. "What I wouldn't give for a hickey."

"Uh, don't look at me," Jack says, backing away. "I'm not _that_ drunk."

Will smiles at his friends' antics, realizing he feels better already. All he'd needed was a few glasses of water to sober up and a good night's rest, and he was back to feeling himself again. A little.

"Seriously though, Will, are you sure you're okay?" Grace says, finally looking at him with authentic conern. 

"Yeah. I think...I think I've finally moved past the denial stage," Will says thoughtfully.

"What's next?" Grace says. 

"Anger, I think," Will says perkily. 

"Angry Will? Huh. And _that_ is my cue to leave," Jack says, standing up and sailing towards the door. "The brunch movement is all about good vibes, and you're _not_ killing my buzz."

"Hmm. You don't seem angry," Grace notes as Jack shuts the door behind him. "You're not even yelling that I didn't use a coaster with my mimosa glass."

"Oh, it'll come," Will says. " _When_ you least expect it." 

He cackles an evil laugh at her and she rolls her eyes.

"Remember," she says. "It takes _half the time_ you date them to get over them. That means you've got two and a half years of misery ahead of you."

He furrows his brow at her. "Was that supposed to be encouraging?"

"I _mean_ , just don't feel the need to rush things. Some days you'll feel anger, sometimes bargaining, maybe even denial again. Getting over someone isn't a neat step-by-step process, it's like a big, messy labyrinth of emotions." She goes to pat him on the shoulder. "And, uh, speaking of big ol' messes, you should probably slap on some concealer before heading into work tomorrow because that on your neck is a _doozy_ right there."

He laughs, reaching to squeeze her hand. "Where would I be without you, Grace?"

"Oh, that's a dark alley you don't wanna go down."  


End file.
